


With Kink in Mind, Part 1: Spring

by TuppingLiberty



Series: With Love in Mind [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftercare, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Asexuality Spectrum, Biting, But not the drug kind, Daddy Kink, Deep Throating, Dom/sub, Explicit Consent, Face-Sitting, Kink Negotiation, Kink Scene, Kinktober, M/M, Mirror Sex, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Rimming, Safe Sane and Consensual, Seattle, Semi-Public Sex, Sensory Deprivation, Shotgunning, Spanking, Subspace, Sugar Daddy-Esque, ass worship, graysexual character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-20 23:47:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16148093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuppingLiberty/pseuds/TuppingLiberty
Summary: With Alan to back him up, Graeme starts college. And if that wasn't distracting enough, he and Alan give themselves a kinky challenge.Sequel to With Love in MindWritten for Kinktober





	1. The Setup

**Author's Note:**

> I highly recommend reading With Love in Mind first, although it's not absolutely necessary if you just want to read for the kinky stuff. :)

It’s nice being able to sit on the couch and not spiral, Graeme thinks. A few months ago, he would have been unable to stop his mind taking him places he didn’t want to go.

Now, though, he gets to have blissful, carefree, quiet moments with his brain, which means he gets to just sit here and watch Alan’s ass stretch the material of his yoga pants as he maneuvers through a sun salutation.

Sometimes Graeme joins Alan, feeling awkward, but accepting it at face value when Alan tells him everyone feels awkward in yoga, all the time, ever.

It’s better for everyone involved, though, when Graeme just watches, because at least he’s there to give the cats attention. Threepio is liable to jump up on Alan’s back mid-stretch, and that does _not_ end well for anyone.

Graeme feels kind of like a Bond villain or some sensuous Roman senator or something, sitting back on the couch, slowing petting Artoo’s head, watching his boyfriend’s body move in such _interesting_ ways. He just needs a bowl of grapes and the scene would be complete.

Alan catches him staring, which hadn’t exactly been Graeme’s intention, but it’s a fun side benefit nonetheless, seeing that bashful pleasure on Alan’s face. Graeme makes a note to himself to praise Alan’s body more often, with touch or words or whatever seems right.

“Can you time my Savasana?”

“Sure, honey. Ten minutes?”

Alan nods, giving him a small smile as he lays down on the mat. This part is always so interesting to Graeme — he knows Alan as a man full of kinetic energy, always moving, working on the treadmill, tapping his fingers, constantly playing with Graeme’s skin or clothes when they’re cuddled up together. Besides sleep, Savasana is honest to goodness the only time he sees Alan be completely still.

He times his breaths with the rise of Alan’s chest, because it’s good practice, even when he’s not feeling anxiety. Alan’s making an almost nearly perfect in-for-four, out-for-four pattern, so it’s easy to stay synced with him.

When the time is nearly up, Graeme slides to the floor, displacing the cats — Artoo meowing indignantly — so that he can sit next to one of Alan’s outstretched arms. He lifts it, gently, threading their fingers together as Alan smiles but doesn’t open his eyes. Slowly, ever so softly, he presses a kiss to Alan’s knuckles. “Time.”

Alan slowly rolls into a fetal position toward him, and lets his eyes open. “Thanks.”

It’s a split-second decision that has Graeme laying down next to him, pressing his body up to Alan’s, sliding their lips together when Alan’s eyes go warm. “No problem.”

Alan’s hand comes down to his hip, and pulls them together better, Graeme’s semi-hard cock resting against Alan’s soft one, the sweat on Alan’s tank making the air humid. Graeme hums into the kiss, taking it deeper, draping his leg over Alan and getting even closer. His fingers slide down Alan’s side and rest under his waistband at the small of his back. “Your ass—” he breaks his own sentence for another kiss, “Your ass is _fantastic.”_

Alan’s face is already red from exertion, but it goes a shade darker at that. “So is yours.”

“Your _everything_ is fantastic.” Graeme rubs his face on Alan’s bearded cheek, humming.

“So is yours,” Alan says with a laugh, pulling him in for a kiss.

“What are we doing today?”

“Each other?”

Graeme laughs, circling his arms around Alan’s neck. “‘Sides that.”

“I should probably work at some point.” As if to reinforce this, Alan reaches for his glasses and slides them on.

“Mmm, and I need to make cookies for Barbie— Krista—...um? She’s Barbie in my phone but I’m not sure...”

“Krista everywhere but at kink events and munches and stuff.”

“Thanks.” Graeme smiles at him, rolling him over onto his back and laying across his chest. “Hi.”

Alan’s fingers play over his fresh fade, scratching in that good, pleasurable way. “Do you want to talk about a new scene? There’s an event at the yoga studio next week, and I know you were thinking about it.”

Graeme kisses Alan’s chest in the V of his tank top and looks away, blushing. “Um…”

When he stays quiet, Alan smooths over his hair. “What’s up, baby?”

“How— how much does the sub get to like, plan and stuff?”

“You’re not going to like my answer. It depends.” Alan laughs when Graeme groans. “It depends on the Dom and the sub, and what exactly everyone needs. Some subs like to be surprised, like to have all of the decision-making taken out of their control. Some subs like to be an intimate part of the process.”

“Do you have a preference?”

Alan rubs over his shoulder. “I like when I communicate with my sub about the scene, yeah. It really helps me figure out exactly what they want, and when I’m providing that, I’m happiest.”

“So you wouldn’t mind if I, like, did some research and stuff. Just for ideas.”

“I wouldn’t mind at all, sweetheart.” He pulls Graeme in for a close kiss, their lips sliding together with a pleasant warmness that Graeme could interpret as comforting, or as leading to something more, depending on what he wanted.

The moment is broken when Threepio jumps up on Graeme’s ass and starts kneading. “Threep!” Graeme yowls, rolling off, making the cat use his ass as a launch pad to the couch, and thunking his head on the floor. “Ow.”

Alan’s immediately in front of his face, concerned. “That was quite a thunk. Can I check?”

“Sure, Mr. First Aid.”

“Hey, it comes in handy.” Alan’s fingers are tender as they check his head, but it’s not even making a goose egg, and the pain is already fading. Graeme can’t actually say it’s such a bad position to be in though, his head cradled in Alan’s hands, Alan’s face all concern and love and warmth.

Very seriously, Alan meets his eyes. “I’m going to need to check the secondary trauma area.”

“Secondary—” Graeme cuts off as Alan’s fingers work their way under his lounge pants. “My ass?”

“Would be a nasty place for an infection, you know.” Gently, he urges Graeme over on his stomach, and with a giggle, Graeme complies.

The apartment air is cool when Alan pulls down his pants, and he shivers a little before Alan warms him with his palms. “Looks okay, but I think I need to get a closer look, you know, really make an inspection.”

Graeme laughs again, but turns around and gives Alan a wink and a nod, knowing Alan wouldn’t move any farther without it.

“Mmm, there’s a small red mark, I’m going to kiss it better, okay?”

Again, Graeme nods, pillowing his head on his arms.

The kiss is feather-light, tender, loving. The next placed just below it, just the same. He feels cherished. Alan’s fingers spread his cheeks, and there’s a tentative kiss over his hole. Graeme arches, trying to open more for Alan, giving further consent. He’s clean from his shower this morning — he always pays special attention, now that he’s getting sex on the regular — and he’s happy to let Alan go.

Some indeterminable amount of time later, and he’s half-floaty from the pleasure of Alan’s tongue, his fingers, when Alan pulls away. “Do you want to come right now, or wait for later tonight?” Alan murmurs, making Graeme whine.

He looks back blurrily at Alan, then pulls on Alan’s tank top until they’re together and kissing again. “Denying myself means more pleasure later, right?

Alan moves up to cup his face, and bring him in for another tender kiss. “Baby, if it’s within my power to make sure you never have to deny yourself anything ever again, I’m going to do it.”

Graeme melts, his eyes tearing up a little, which he tries to will away. “Alan.”

“Graeme.”

A little overcome, Graeme buries his face in Alan’s chest, letting himself hear Alan’s heartbeat. Alan just continues to stroke over his cheek, letting Graeme process his feelings. One of the many things Graeme loves about Alan is how patient he is.

“I can wait ‘til later,” he whispers back, hugging Alan tightly to him. “I’ll just have to find something to distract myself.”

“In that case…” Alan pulls his pants back up.

Graeme groans as they help each other up, his cock tenting out his lounge pants, a large wet spot making it even more obvious. He wrinkles his nose. “I’m going to go change.”

“Just remember, no touching.” There’s just a hint of command in Alan’s voice, like they’re not really scening, but like Alan is supporting his decision with a little Dom action.

Graeme groans again, but shoots a small smile at Alan over his shoulder.

 

At first, Graeme tries to distract himself by preparing for school. His first college class ever is starting in just a few days — Kitchen Production Skills 1 — and though he has all the paperwork, and all the supplies, and everything he needs, he’s so goddamn nervous every time he thinks about it that he can’t even concentrate on thinking about it, just looping right into a spiral every time.

So to distract himself from _that,_ he moves over to the kink research he’d mentioned to Alan earlier. He’s mostly been relying on Alan the last few months for his introduction to the kink scene and what it’s all about — and _what_ an introduction it has been. Graeme’s been happy, definitely.

But there’s always some part of Graeme that wants to make sure he’s bringing enough to the table, whether that’s going to school so that he can eventually get a good job and support himself, or whether that’s looking up things from the negotiation contracts they’d signed at the beginning so that he can suggest scene ideas to Alan.

The internet is, of course, a rabbit hole of information on kink: good, bad, and ugly. He feels like he knows enough now to not stumble onto a site promoting bad kink practices, or to recognize that kind of thing when he does see it. Still, there’s a lot out there that make his eyes go wide. He feels like he’s gaping at the laptop screen about every minute.

“I didn’t know how much I didn’t know,” he eventually mumbles.

Alan looks down from the treadmill to his laptop screen, which is currently showing a very pretty shibari wrap on a sub, the ropes weaving an intricate pattern over the sub’s back, then laughs. “Yeah, there’s a lot out there. A lot I haven’t explored, even.”

“This isn’t really helping my distraction problem, but damn, Alan, it’s like...overwhelming, but in a super good way? Like I don’t know what direction to pick.”

“Any direction you want, baby.” Alan sounds a little distracted himself, and when Graeme glances up, he’s frowning at his own screen as he types. All of this is Alan-body-language for ‘something is wrong with my code,’ so Graeme lapses into silence, exploring again. He knows Alan is still catching up from their weekend getaway.

Thirty minutes and approximately a thousand clicks and 20 new bookmarks later, Graeme comes across an interesting tangent.

“Kinktober?” he whispers aloud, following the [link to Tumblr](https://kinktober2018.tumblr.com/post/171107184776/kinktober-2018) and narrowing his eyes to concentrate. “Huh…”

“What’s that?” Alan sounds way less distracted now.

“Kinktober, have you heard of it?”

“I’ve heard of _ink_ tober. Where people draw something every day of October.”

“Okay, well, extrapolate from that, _kink_ tober would be…”

“A kink for every day of October?” Alan gets down from the treadmill, pulling a sleeping Threepio into his arms so he can sit down next to Graeme.

“Yeah, exactly. Except it’s for writing.” Graeme gives Alan a side eye and a little grin. “Except it doesn’t _have_ to be.”

“Okay, I don’t want to rain on your parade, baby, but that would be _exhausting._ Scening every day? With a lot of new stuff? I would advise against it, to be honest.” To temper his statement, Alan presses a kiss on Graeme’s forehead.

“Sure. And my ass would be _raw_ by the end, so, like, no thanks to that. But, hmm…” He links fingers with Alan, squeezing them. “The thing is, I want to try a bunch of this stuff out. Like. I love what we have and I just want to keep exploring, right?”

“Well, what if we spaced it out over more time? Allow for recovery?”

Graeme hums again in thought, then bolts upright as the memory pops into his head. “Alan!”

“Graeme!” Alan says with a laugh.

“What was that— that one movie we watched a couple months ago, when I was recovering and you looked up like, every chef movie known to man.”

“Uh, Ratatouille?”

“No, not animated. The one with that lady, you know, with the red hair. And Meryl Streep was Julia Child. Julie and Julia!” Graeme finally says triumphantly, beaming. “Where the woman gave herself a year to get through Julia Child’s French cooking book.”

“So, you want to challenge us to a year to get through all of the Kinktober list?” Alan prompts, because Alan is, as always, on the same wavelength as Graeme.

“Yes! Exactly!” Graeme goes quiet. “What do you think?”

Threepio has already jumped away from him, so Alan maneuvers Graeme into his lap with the laptop, rubbing over Graeme’s thigh. “I think...it sounds fun. Like getting an achievement in a game. And a year gives us, what, two to three scenes to do a month, approximately, which is about what we have been doing, or more, anyway. Where’s the list? We should set up a shared spreadsheet so we can both contribute ideas.”

Graeme presses a short kiss to Alan’s lips. “I really love you, nerd.”

“I love you, too, nerd.” He kisses Graeme’s nose in retaliation. “When do you want to start? And what are we starting with?”

Graeme clicks around, then reads out the prompts for the first day. “Deep-Throating, Inflation, Face-Sitting, Masks. Hmm. Well. I haven’t quite worked my way up to deep-throating yet, so we could maybe start there, but I can’t promise anything.”

“You responded really well to the blindfold a few days ago, and that would be like a mask.”

A shiver rushes through Graeme’s skin as he remembers their sensation play scene. “Yeah, that was good,” he says faintly.

Alan nips at his neck; Graeme can feel how his lips are turned up in a grin. “I have another suggestion, though. You actually brought it up.”

“Oh?” Graeme tips his head, allowing Alan better access.

“Face-sitting. You wanted to rim me, right?”

All of the blood in Graeme’s body goes straight for his cock. “Yeah,” he replies, breathlessly.

He can feel Alan’s grin go wider. “So eat me out. Let me sit on your face and use your tongue.”

Graeme actually _whimpers,_ his hand ghosting over his cock.

“Uh-uh. No touching, that was what you wanted.” Instead, Alan takes Graeme’s hand and threads their fingers together.

“I’d— I’d really like that. Let’s do that. Use me.”

“When?”

“On my birthday.” The answer rushes out of Graeme’s mouth without him even thinking about it. “We have the hockey game. Let’s go to that, and then you can— you can use me however you want.”

Alan’s fingers slip over his stomach, making him shiver again. “That could work. I’m not sure— it’s always hit or miss—”

Graeme sets the laptop aside and turns in Alan’s arms, circling around Alan’s neck and hugging him tightly in comfort. “If you don’t want to come, or feel like you can’t, that’s okay, sweetheart. That’s always okay.”

Alan takes a deep breath, blowing it out so it rustles Graeme’s hair. “Okay. Well then, I think I can work with that. Come up with a good birthday present for my baby boy. Oh— and I have another idea, but I want it to be a surprise. It goes along with the prompts, though.”

“I like Alan surprises. So our first scene will be my 21st, and our final day will be my 22nd birthday next year.” Graeme holds out his hand to shake on it.

Grinning, Alan takes his hand and complies. “Should be a year to remember.”


	2. Graeme's Birthday, and Face Sitting (lol)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alan helps Graeme celebrate his birthday the best way he knows how: by showering Graeme with love and affection and sexy times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goal is to update every day before work, but I took the day off today because I came down with The Sickness, aka a nasty cold. So expect early morning (in my timezone anyway) uploads after today.

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
March 21 _(My Birthday!!!! - G) (I know - A)_ /October 1st

| 

Deep-Throating | Inflation | **Face-Sitting** | Masks

| 

_Surprise for the birthday boy - A_  
  
Alan’s arm is warm around his stomach when Graeme wakes, blinking in the sunlight. What woke him is immediately obvious: Artoo is washing his face. Graeme groans, only to attract Threepio, who immediately starts to purr, sticking his face into Graeme’s armpit, kneading, and revving up the drool factory.

“What, do you guys know it’s my birthday or something?” Graeme grumbles halfheartedly, disentangling his hands from the blankets to stroke both cats. He loves that Artoo has come to accept him, and that Threep is as easily giving of his love as ever. Cats are awesome.

Threepio pushes into his face now, wiping his drool all over. Because cats.

“I think I forgot to put down food last night,” Alan mumbles against Graeme’s neck. “Sorry, baby. And happy birthday.” As if on cue, Graeme’s stomach rumbles as well, and Alan pats it, laughing. “I guess I forgot to put food down last night for you too, huh? How do birthday Dutch Babies sound?”

“Uh, _fantastic._ You’re going to cook for me?”

“I’m a one-trick pony when it comes to breakfast food.” Alan kisses his cheek. “You can laze around a bit if you want while I cook.”

When Alan moves out of the bed, both cats hop to the floor and bolt out the door, showing their true motive. “Yeah, I think you forgot to put food down,” he calls to Alan’s back as he heads to the kitchen.

Lazing about in bed is nice and all, but Graeme only manages to be alone with his thoughts for about five minutes before spiraling about school and shoving out of bed. It’s expected, now that he’ll be starting college in a little over a week, and his therapist Clarissa has prepared him for it. The best thing he can do to combat them is to get active. He might still be anxious but at least then he’s being productive.

He shuffles off to his closet in the other bedroom — his anxiety is partially eased by having a space to himself that he can shut everyone out of, including Alan if need be — and laughs.

“Hey Alan?” he asks, betraying nothing.

“Yes?” Alan responds, sounding just as innocent.

“Can you come here, sweetie?”

A few moments later, Alan’s head pops into the bedroom. “What’s up?”

“Is it just me, or is my closet, uh, producing clothing babies?”

“What do you mean?” Alan sounds innocent still, but he’s grinning like a maniac.

“It just seems like all of a sudden there’s a lot less space in here.”

“Hmm. Maybe you should do an inspection, really check it out in there.”

Graeme rolls his eyes, but he can’t help smiling. He feels Alan come to stand over his shoulder as he goes through the hangers. There’s a few new shirts, one that has Graeme pausing. “Is this a crop top?”

“Have you ever tried wearing one?”

Graeme shakes his head, pulling the pale blue sweatshirt out and holding it up to his body, trying to imagine.

“I think you’ll look amazing in it,” Alan whispers in his ear, his fingers lingering over Graeme’s stomach, still covered by his pajama tee. “I’d love to play with you in it, baby boy.”

“I can do that for you, Daddy.” They share a small smile at each other, letting the moment pass over them.

“Keep going.”

Graeme slides more shirts down, past the garment bag holding the fabulous suit Alan had gotten him for the charity gala, and comes to rest on the last new item in the closet. It’s not new. In fact, it’s wonderfully old and worn. “Alan, you didn’t have to...” He trails off, emotional.

He feels Alan shrug. “You love that one. It wasn’t super hard to get it back. Jeremy was surprisingly easy to bribe.”

It’s the hoodie he left behind in his locker when he quit the Burger Joint, all freshly laundered and soft. Graeme immediately slips it on over his pajamas, deciding that getting dressed can wait until later. His thumbs find their familiar holes as he pulls it on, and when he finally works his head through the top, he’s greeted with a grinning Alan. He knows he’s beaming back, and then he throws his arms around Alan’s neck, laughing as Alan swings him up into a hug.

There’s an insistent beeping from the kitchen that breaks the mood. “Oh, fuck, that’s the timer,” Alan mutters. Instead of putting him down, though, he just wraps Graeme’s legs better around his waist and carries him to the kitchen, finally setting him down on one of the bar stools.

Graeme feels impossibly warm and fuzzy and in love as Alan tools about the kitchen, getting their Dutch Baby ready. When it has what Alan deems a proper amount of powdered sugar, butter, and lemon juice, he puts the whole baking dish in between he and Graeme and just hands Graeme a fork. “Dig in, birthday boy.”

At the first bite, Graeme hums happily, leaning over to kiss Alan. “You might be a one-trick pony, but it’s a pretty damned good trick.”

Alan kisses him back before moving to cut out his own first bite.

 

There’s a special feeling of excitement Graeme reserves for hockey, or maybe, there’s a special feeling hockey instills in Graeme. Either way, he can feel it thrumming through his system as they walk into the arena that evening, his hand firmly holding Alan’s.

“Is that the team store? Come on, let’s go check it out,” Alan says, very innocently again, which Graeme has come to learn means that he’s about to get the shit spoiled out of him.

He lets Alan drag him in, and then weakly protests when Alan insists on decking him out in Thunderbird gear. He feels a little floaty in a weird, dissociative way when he’s putting on his new sweater, hat, and socks — yes, Alan bought him _socks?! —_ but it passes when he steps out of the dressing room and does a little twirl for Alan.

The concessions stand is no different, Alan not even blinking at the outrageous prices as he loads Graeme down with a pretzel, hot dog, soda, water, and a beer — just a small one to share with Alan, since he can’t really go all out with his meds. It _is_ his 21st, after all. Oh, and popcorn, and a huge bag of M &Ms. Holding it all as Alan pays some exorbitant amount makes Graeme feel weird again, on the edge of panic, like he can’t quite enjoy everything at face value. He doesn’t want to ruin the evening, though, so he keeps it to himself.

Besides, teaching Alan the basics of hockey is both extremely entertaining and also distracting. Alan learns quickly, but mostly just screams his lungs out when Graeme tells him to. And maybe it’s hockey, but it’s Seattle, so when Alan pulls him into an excited kiss when the Thunderbirds score, no one cares. It’s an amazing feeling, being tucked into Alan’s side out in public.

“I have a surprise for you,” Alan says, all grins, when the game is over. Instead of leading Graeme outside, he pulls him down a corridor that is definitely not for public use. “I might have used a connection I have to talk to the general manager.”

Graeme can’t stop gaping, but forces himself to when he shakes the hands of several of the players, including his favorite goalie, and they sign his sweater. Graeme is fairly sure most of the pictures Alan’s posting to Insta of him meeting with the team make him look like a blubbering idiot, but he can’t quite bring himself to care.

Back out on the street, Graeme feels like he’s going to burst out of his skin, the pent up excitement of everything that just happened, of being 21, of having Alan as his wonderful boyfriend hitting him all at once. He makes Alan go down the stairs first, and then slides down the railing and into his arms, bubbling over with happiness. That shadow of something else is still there, that creeping feeling of uneasiness, that feeling that he doesn’t deserve any of this, but right now, it’s easy to drown it out.

“I don’t want to go home yet,” he says to Alan in a rush of breath, still in Alan’s arms in the parking garage. “I don’t want to be hemmed in, I want to be free!” He gestures widely at the concrete cage around them.

Alan laughs, pulling him up for a kiss. “How about a drive, then? I think I know of a place we can go.”

Graeme twirls around to the passenger side of the Tesla. “Perfect, but only if I get to have the windows down.”

It’s March in Seattle, so having the windows down at night is probably not the smartest idea, but Graeme feels like his excitement is raising his body temperature by at least twenty degrees, and Alan agrees to indulge him. Once they get to driving, Graeme holds Alan’s hand fast in his and uses the other to run up and down in the cold night air as they watch the Seattle nightlife blur by.

They stop at a lookout, the Sound pitch black except for the reflecting lights of the city. Graeme dashes out of the Tesla and leans down on the stone wall that surely, countless millions of people have posed in front of for a selfie. Adrenaline is pumping through his blood, the good kind, and when Alan presses up behind him, he can’t help but press back and groan.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

He feels Alan’s beard, and the hat he knitted, rub against his cheek. It is, amazingly, not raining on them for the moment, and there’s no sound out here but the lapping of waves on the shore. “It was perfect,” Graeme murmurs, pulling Alan’s arms around him.

They watch the dark water, and the orange sky. “Too bad about the light pollution.” Alan presses a kiss under his ear, where he’s sensitive.

“Ye—yeah,” Graeme manages, voice shaky as his excitement transforms itself into desire.

Alan’s hands are massaging down his back, now, and over his hips. They find an opening, exposing a little sliver of skin on Graeme’s stomach to the cold, and he shivers. The cold is gone in an instant, as Alan’s hand strokes over his rapidly stiffening cock. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

“Alan—”

“Want me to get you off right now?”

Graeme shudders, thrusting forward to rub against Alan’s hand.

“Right out here in the open? We could get caught.” Graeme’s dick twitches, and Alan chuckles in his ear. “My little exhibitionist. I need an answer, baby. What do you want?”

“I want you to make me come.”

“Right now? Right here?”

“Yes, Alan, God, yes.”

Alan’s hand continues to torture Graeme’s cock, not quite getting the full length of him as he strokes him over his boxers. “I think we need a lookout.” He withdraws his hand to Graeme’s groan, and turns Graeme by the hips. “Keep an eye for me, baby? Keep us safe?”

At Graeme’s groaned affirmation, Alan drops to his knees, promptly undoes Graeme’s pants, and swallows his cock.

There’s probably no danger of their spot being invaded; they’re out a ways, and they’re in the dark, anyway. But Graeme pushes his fingers into the hat he knitted Alan and watches the road intently. _Oh, deepthroating,_ Graeme has the chance to think, briefly remembering the Kinktober prompts for today as Alan’s tongue and throat work over him. Graeme may still be throat training but Alan, apparently, can do just fine in this department. Being buried in Alan’s throat, the idea that anyone could come along, their headlights illuminating Alan on his knees for Graeme as they come into the parking lot — Graeme’s blood is hot, pumping through him.

“Alan!” he shouts, coming just as a car pulls around the corner on the road.

Alan shoots up, come spilling out of his mouth, and presses against Graeme’s front to hide him. Graeme tugs him forward into a kiss, sharing the taste of himself with Alan, wrapping his calf around Alan’s and letting Alan push him into the wall. The car passes by without stopping at the vista point, and Graeme laughs against Alan’s mouth in relief.

“Fuck, you make me feel like a teenager, and I never was a normal, horny teenager.” Alan’s voice is raspy, which is fucking hot, so Graeme pulls him into another kiss.

"Fuck normal," Graeme whispers, tugging on Alan's hair. "I love you just the way you are." They stay like that for a little while longer, making out to the sound of waves.

Eventually, the cold of the cement wall against his back gets to Graeme, and he shivers, pulling Alan tighter instinctively. Alan pulls back, pressing kisses over Graeme’s cheek before reaching down to rearrange Graeme back into his pants.

Graeme cups Alan’s cheeks. “Let’s go home. I think I owe someone some face-sitting time, if you want.” He means to say it lightly, but the overwhelming emotions of everything Alan has done for him today comes through.

Alan frowns just slightly. “You know you don’t owe me anything, Graeme.”

Real name, no endearment, means Alan’s serious, and Graeme’s cheeks flood with embarrassment. “No, I know, just—” He buries his fingers in Alan’s jacket, twisting and tangling them to distract himself. “You’ve done a lot for me today, and it feels weird,” he whispers finally.

Alan’s arms come around him again, warm and loving. “Are you feeling unbalanced?”

Graeme meets Alan’s eyes in wonder. “That’s, uh— that’s it exactly, to be honest.”

Alan presses a kiss to his forehead. “Graeme Webster owes Alan Garry nothing, I want that clear, okay?” Graeme nods. “Baby boy, on the other hand, maybe baby boy wants to pay his daddy back?”

Graeme’s nodding intensifies. “However you want. It doesn’t have to be rimming, if you’re not into that.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Your talented mouth on me? I think I could be into it.”

“I’m not joking, Alan.”

Alan rests his forehead on Graeme’s. “I know. Sorry. Traffic lights. I promise I’ll color out if I feel uncomfortable.” He offers Graeme a sweet little smile. “And I don’t know. I feel like— like being able to joke about my asexuality is a big step for me? Now that I’m finally with someone who respects it.”

“Always, okay?”

Alan nuzzles into his neck. “Okay.”

 

It takes a little while to convince Alan that Graeme’s going to be perfectly all right if he decides to _actually_ sit on Graeme’s face. Graeme rubs his hands over Alan’s furry legs and practices the hand signal, twice, at Alan’s insistence, before Alan really gives himself over to Graeme.

For Graeme, it’s everything he’s wanted — Alan’s thick thighs cushioning his face, the clean, musky scent of the freshly showered Alan filling his senses. Alan’s facing away, his hands and knees braced on the bed, not yet giving Graeme his weight. Graeme places a kiss on Alan’s perineum before moving back to his rim.

He’s not sure if Alan, because of his past experience, will ever let Graeme have penetrative sex with him. He’s honored Alan’s letting him go this far, and it makes sense, since it’s about Alan’s pleasure, not his partner’s. Graeme would give everything he has to make sure Alan never feels like he’s being used for pleasure again.

With that thought at the forefront of his mind, Graeme puts his heart into action, slowly opening Alan up with small kitten licks and kisses. He curls his hands around Alan’s thighs, urging him down, so Graeme can push in farther. Alan complies, then groans helplessly, giving into the pleasure and giving Graeme his full weight.

Graeme squeezes Alan’s legs triumphantly, feeling his own cock stirring below as he’s pressed to the mattress.

“Baby—” Alan gasps out brokenly. “Oh, oh my god—”

Graeme wonders briefly if this is the first time Alan’s been rimmed. And if so, he feels damned fortunate to give him this. He _is_ surprised, and extremely gratified, when he feels a drop of Alan’s precum land on his chest.

His jaw is starting to ache when Alan leans back, fully sitting on him. From the motions above, it feels like Alan’s stroking his cock, and Graeme groans in encouragement. He goes harder, fucking his tongue in and out of Alan’s hole, massaging over Alan’s thighs, making happy noises.

“Oh, fuck, baby, you’re so pretty—” Alan freezes, groaning, bending over Graeme, and then his cum is splattered over Graeme’s torso, and he’s collapsing to the side.

Lazily, a little dazed, Graeme swipes his finger through the cum and brings it to his lips, savoring it even as his own cock twitches. Humming, he gathers some more and  reaches down, stroking it over his cock.

“You’re the hottest person alive, I’m pretty sure.” Alan’s voice is fucked out, and he groans when he lifts himself a little to mouth over Graeme’s balls, using his own cum to help stroke Graeme to completion. “Come for me, baby boy. Come for Daddy, you’re such a good baby boy.”

Shuddering, groaning, Graeme comes, mixing his with Alan’s on his torso. When he opens his eyes, Alan’s hovering over him, smiling. “Hey,” Graeme manages.

Alan leans down to kiss him. “Hey, gorgeous. Want a bath?”

“A bath would require moving.”

“If only you had a boyfriend who could carry you.”

“If only,” Graeme says with a smile as Alan sweeps him up into his arms.

“How are you feeling now?”

Graeme takes a moment, lets his brain go quiet so he can hear if anything is screaming at him. “Good, I think. Better. More balanced.”

“Good.” Alan kisses his brow. “Will it totally fuck with that if I tell you I have one more surprise?”

“Just, promise me it’s not, like, a car or something.”

Alan sets him down on the counter, then reaches into a cabinet, pulling out a little bag. “Nope, just a bath bomb.”

Graeme opens the bag and takes a deep whiff. “Mmm, honey and vanilla?”

“We’ll both smell good enough to eat.”

“I approve, then, since it’s for you, too.”

Alan tosses the bomb into the water and they both watch it bubble up and fizz.

Graeme stands after wiping his stomach off with a towel. He wraps his arms around Alan’s neck. “This was the best birthday I’ve ever had, Alan. Thank you.”

Alan picks him up again and settles into the water with him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “You’re more than welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone knows how to get borders to show up on the table at the top of the fic, let me know? I'm planning on having a slice of their spreadsheet every day so it would be nice for it to visually make sense.


	3. Ass Worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graeme's an entire bundle of nerves starting his first college class, so Alan takes him to an event and calms him.

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
Kink event Saturday/ Oct 2

| 

**Ass Worship** | Begging | Medical play _(This could be interesting, wouldn’t mind trying as roleplay in the future maybe? - G)_ | ~~Watersports~~

| 

_Ass worship - spanking at the kink event like we talked about? - A_

_Is it worship if you’re hitting it? - G_

_Oh, honey. Yes. - A_  
  
 

The first clue Graeme is spiraling is that he’s stopped in the middle of knitting, letting it drop to his lap as he stares intently at the wall, or, more likely, into space. The second clue is that one of his hands is rubbing along his jeans obsessively. Alan notices those two actions in the span of a second and sets his code to compile. Hopping down from the treadmill, he turns off the show he’d been watching in favor of the white noise app he helped design for Graeme.

“Baby?” He reaches for Graeme’s hand, the one that’s rubbing against his jeans, and threads their fingers together. When Graeme blinks and looks over at him, his eyes are hazy, not unlike when he reaches subspace. And so, like coming up from subspace, Alan pulls Graeme into his arms — careful not to disturb the knitting — and begins to massage gently over Graeme’s back.

Graeme curls into him, fingers clutching at Alan’s tee. “I’m okay,” he whispers.

He’s obviously not, but Alan grants him the benefit of the doubt, letting his head rest in Graeme’s curls. The spirals have been bad lately, especially now that Graeme’s first college class is only two days away. He’s already cleaned and organized everything in the apartment, even Alan’s home office.

“Do you want to go for a walk?”

“Don’t you need to work?”

Alan hates the hollowness of Graeme’s voice when his brain is like this. He pushes his fingers through Graeme’s hair like he’s petting him, and kisses his forehead. “Compiling. I can get away for a bit.”

 

During the walk, Alan chatters, mostly because if he doesn’t, there’s a whole lot of silence for Graeme’s brain to take advantage of. He’s never had a problem chattering, anyway.

“I just— I just want the first day to get here and be done and over with. I know, I _know_ it’s not as bad as I’m building it up to be,” Graeme says when they’re sitting on a bench, watching seagulls try to hustle tourists.

“There’s the event tonight, that’ll eat up some time.”

“Hey, you know, we could, uh. Do a scene at the event instead. I mean, if there’s room for us.”

Alan squeezes Graeme’s hand. “I can always text the runner. I’m sure they can squeeze us in.”

“So you’d do that for me?” Graeme leans his head on Alan’s shoulder, and Alan presses a kiss into his hair.

“Yeah, baby, it’d be my pleasure.”

Maybe without Graeme, he would have discovered on his own just how much he loves taking care of his sub. He knew, from the start, of course, that that’s what appealed to him, but he’d never realized the _depth_ of it until Graeme. Already he’s trying to figure out exactly what type of scene would be best—

“I want you to spank me,” Graeme whispers. “I want— I want you to spank me like you did Jacob.”

Alan frowns. “You don’t have to push your boundaries if you want a distraction, sweetie. We can do something else at the event, or stay home and do impact play, we don’t have to combine two new things at once.”

Graeme’s fingers curl around his. “I think I’m ready. I’m nervous as fuck, and I just want— I don’t know, for an evening, I just want to be all nice and floaty in subspace and not be worried about it. I was at three days up until this whole school thing.”

“Three days?”

“Since my last bad spiral. That’s a new record, for this round of meds anyway.”

Alan presses another kiss to his hair. “I know you don’t think it’s an accomplishment, but I’m proud of your brain anyway. It’s hard right now, yeah, but three days is awesome. That’s progress. You’ll get that back.”

“Are you going to refuse to do a scene with me because I’m stressed out?”

Alan sighs, hugging Graeme to him. “I’m certainly going to approach it differently. I’ll probably discuss everything before we do it? I don’t want your anxiety being exacerbated by the unknown.”

Graeme turns, rubbing his cheek against Alan’s. “You’re so reasonable.”

“Smart ass.” Alan dodges Graeme’s retaliatory tickling fingers and pulls him in for a kiss.

“We’ll do a scene, though?”

“We’ll do a scene, and I’ll help you go under, so your mind can get some rest before Monday. Sound good?”

“Sounds great.” He stands, pulling Alan up with him so they can start walking back to the apartment.

“So, let’s talk scene parameters, then.”

 

Since he and Alan started dating, they’ve been to a couple of kink events, but only as spectators, Alan talking Graeme through various aspects. Graeme has never actually been back to the changing room. When he steps out of the booth in the outfit they’d chosen together, he’s surprised for half a second to see Alan at the mirror, carefully applying eye makeup.

“I _knew_ you did something to your eyes that one time!”

Alan grins at him in the mirror, and sticks his tongue out. “It helps me get into the character.”

“And it looks hot.”

 _“You_ look hot.”

Graeme blushes. “You were right about the crop top.”

He’s wearing the light blue crop top Alan had surprised him with on his birthday. He’s feeling kind of self-conscious about his tummy, resting his hands over it to hide anything no one but Alan has seen. For the rest, he’s wearing boxer briefs, blue and black striped, that Alan assures him make his ass look amazing. And since it’s his ass that’s going to be on display tonight…

“Believe me, baby, you look hot. Nothing to hide.” Alan pulls him over for a kiss, patting his bare stomach with affection. Turning back to the mirror, he finishes up. “How’re the eyes?”

“Mysterious,” Graeme babbles, then laughs at himself. “They look really good.”

Alan holds out his hand. “You ready, baby?”

“Yeah.”

Alan’s not Daddy tonight, just Sir, and the point of the scene is exploration, so Graeme’s not preparing for anything super intense. Tonight is about finding out what kind of impact he likes — or doesn’t.

It’s also about showing the world what a good sub he is for Alan, and he’s expecting that that’s what’s going to get him more into the headspace he wants to be in. He wants to see pride in Alan’s eyes as he obeys.

They have a small audience as Alan positions him on a spanking bench. They haven’t really explored bondage yet, so Alan doesn’t strap him in, just moves his limbs where he wants them, praising him as he goes. The bench is raised, letting Alan bend over just a little to meet Graeme’s eyes. He strokes over Graeme’s waves. “What are your words?”

“Green, yellow, red.”

“And where are you right now, baby? Is everything comfortable? You look so good, all ready for me.”

Graeme shivers, imagining how he’s displayed for everyone to see now. His ass is raised, legs slightly splayed by the cushioning of the bench. The boxer briefs leave nothing to the imagination, which means he’s exposed for the world. Well, not as exposed as he will be later, when Alan takes down the briefs, and his hole will be out for everyone. His ass is ready to be worshipped.

Graeme takes a second to adjust himself more comfortably. He knows that’s not a thing all Doms ask their subs. He’s glad Alan cares about it, though, glad it’s one of the things that gets Alan off, metaphorically. Graeme’s dick is already half-hard from the exhibitionism, pressing against the leather of the bench, a low, constant pressure that makes him feel like he’s buzzing. “Green, sir,” he says in a clear voice. At home, he might have whispered, but he wants everyone to know that Alan treats him correctly.

“And if you can’t speak, for some reason?”

Graeme reaches back and taps twice on his own back. It’s a signal they’ve used, normally on Alan’s thigh, when Graeme’s mouth is otherwise occupied, say, during cock warming or a blowjob, or when his face is buried in Alan’s ass.

Alan sweeps a hand over the part of Graeme’s back that’s exposed by his crop top. He leaves it there, letting it warm against Graeme’s skin, a steadying force. “I’m going to be right here the whole time,” Alan murmurs. “I’m not leaving you.”

True to his word, his hand doesn’t leave Graeme’s skin as his other hand slowly warms up one of Graeme’s cheeks. “I love these briefs on you. You should wear these for me around the apartment.”

Graeme, who’d been sort of making eye contact with one of their spectators, blushes a deep red. The spectator winks at him, and his cock fills a little more.

“This isn’t a punishment,” Alan reminds him. “If it starts to feel like one, I need you to use one of your words. This is to make you feel good, okay?”

“Okay, sir,” Graeme murmurs, then shivers when he feels the press of Alan’s lips to the vulnerable skin at his back.

The first slap, right across his ass cheek, is light, like they’d talked about, a warm up. Alan places his hand over the affected area, rubbing away the sting. Graeme had tensed a little, but he relaxes again at Alan’s soothing words and caresses. He repeats this process, on both cheeks, just light taps, barely even making it sting. All the while, Alan’s thumb is drawing circles on the bare skin of his back; he hasn’t left, just like he said he wouldn’t. The small movement gives Graeme something to center his focus on.

A thumb hooks under the waistband of his briefs and pulls them down over his ass, which causes a pleasant little shiver of stinging. “Mmm, baby, you are _so_ pretty in pink.”

Graeme blushes again. _“Sir.”_ He readjusts himself on the bench as Alan gives a little chuckle.

“Such a good boy. You’re not as bashful as you want them to believe, are you? You like showing off?”

Luckily, he doesn’t seem to require an answer. Graeme _does_ like showing off, apparently, but he also likes the tease of pretending he doesn’t. He whines, instead, imagining Alan’s grin.

Alan caresses over his no-longer-injured hip, leaning down to press a kiss there, anyway. It’s intimate, and an acknowledgement of the connection they’ve forged.

The second round of slaps seem to have the same power behind them as the first, but they’re more intense, directly against skin. He jumps at the first one, feeling a stinging warmth wash over his cheek. He’s reminded of the small ‘punishment’ Alan doled out when they’d played with the Wartenberg wheel, remember now how much he’d enjoyed the feeling. He sucks in a quick breath at the pleasure, and Alan pauses. “Color?”

“Green.” _Very green._ Graeme has half a mind to beg Alan to hit him again.

The next slap has the same amount of sting, but it seems to compound, reverberating through his other asscheek and making that one sting again, too. _“Mmph.”_

“That’s right, honey boy, you can get vocal for me. Show me how good I’m making you feel.”

Another slap, the first side again, slightly off center, a little harder. Graeme registers all of these things before his mind sharpens in on the stinging pain, like a wash through his body. His dick is fully hard, now, trying to escape his briefs, pressed against the bench. The impact moved his body slightly enough that he felt pressure though, and now Graeme wants to arch against the table and find that pressure again. Still, he doesn’t move, waiting patiently for Alan.

The next two slaps come back to back, and Graeme moans at both the pressure on his cock and feeling in his ass. His hands squeeze into the leather of the handholds built into the bench, and he can’t help but arch his back a little.

“He’s the most responsive sub I’ve ever played with,” Alan tells someone in their audience, and Graeme shivers. “So sweet. So patient. So perfect.”

Alan ratchets up the intensity again, the slap coming a little harder, the sound a little louder. Again, he checks in with Graeme, and Graeme manages to slur out a soft “Green” to keep the scene going. He’s green, yes, because he feels _sooooooo_ good, and he wants to keep sinking.

Fingers sweep through his hair. “Look at my good boy, already slipping under for me.”

“Sir—”

“Let me take care of you, baby.”

Graeme relaxes. The next blow will come when it comes.

They do, of course, because he hasn’t called a halt to the scene and neither has Alan, but Graeme’s beyond registering where the blows are landing or when or how hard. Pleasure licks up his spine, along with pain, building and refracting over itself until his whole body is vibrating with it. _Who’d’ve thought you’d like it this way?_ The thought falls through his brain unbidden, and makes him giggle. So subspace makes him a little goofy sometimes, he’s found. Who could be upset when you feel this good, though?

Alan’s face pops in front of his eyes, grinning, but intent on checking him. He brushes through Graeme’s hair again, and places a kiss on his forehead. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” he whispers, grin still beaming.

Graeme wants to reciprocate; he’s still not used to being the center of attention like this. But Alan shushes him, kissing him silent and moving back to his position.

The spoon that comes next is a whole different level of interesting, as far as Graeme is concerned. A sharper pain, although Alan once again starts slow and light. He likes the sound it makes, the way the pain radiates more over his skin even though it’s more centered. His ass burns in the most pleasant way, and he can only imagine how pink it is now. Red, maybe.

Alan works up to a crescendo with the spoon, still not too hard, but hard enough to make Graeme moan. He’s clinging to the bench because he’s fairly sure if he doesn’t he’s going to float right away, somewhere up toward the ceiling. He groans hard, arching his hips into the impact, and letting the friction set him on fire. Like a flash, his body is filled with euphoria, tingling up his spine and down to his toes, and he realizes very, very belatedly that he just came in his boxer briefs.

Alan’s hands are caressing over his back, and he leans over, whispering, “You did such a good job for me, Graeme.”

In the back of his mind, Graeme gets that the use of his name means the scene is over, but he doesn’t have to worry about that, Alan does. He floats, instead, as Alan applies some type of balm to his ass and cleans him off and pulls soft, cotton lounge pants onto him. Alan never leaves his side, letting him take small sips of water as he floats, floats, floats.

He tries not to be dead weight when Alan lifts him from the bench and wraps him in the softest blanket he thinks he’s ever felt. That’s nice. He was just starting to get cold. They walk somewhere, Graeme tucked up against Alan’s side, probably making it awkward to walk, and then Alan is lowering him into the pillows and holding him close.

His heart and mind are quiet, for once, the subspace like a barrier holding everything at bay. He curls better into Alan, and listens with half an ear as Alan babbles praise at him, giving Alan soft acknowledgements back that he is, in fact, okay. Very, very okay.

When he finally feels like the rush of pleasure is working its way out of his system and his brain is back in his body, not floating up above somewhere, he seeks out Alan’s hand and squeezes it, leaning in to brush his lips over Alan’s.

“That was… fuck. You’re amazing to me, Alan. I can’t believe how good that was.”

Alan seems to brighten under his praise, which reminds Graeme that this whole thing goes both ways, that he doesn’t want Alan to experience top drop any more than he wants to experience sub drop. “How are you doing?” he asks. “Did you get some water, too?”

Alan smiles, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You’re very sweet. Yes, I did. And I have an orange for us to share, if you want to.”

Graeme hums with happiness when Alan produces it from somewhere outside of their soft cocoon. He takes it, biting at the rind to start peeling it, then feeds a slice to Alan, his fingers brushing over Alan’s lips. He feeds himself a slice, then back to Alan, as intimate an experience as anything they’ve shared, and it’s just a fucking orange.

“Is it normal to feel a little like I had too much to drink?”

“Yeah,” Alan says, sweeping back his bangs. “You were pretty deep under for a while, sweetheart. You looked very happy.”

“I was. Am. You done good.” Graeme offers Alan a bright smile, and pulls him in for a kiss.

The next chunk of time, Graeme’s not sure how many minutes, is dedicated to making out with Alan, hugging him close and trying to feel him everywhere.

 

Monday morning, they groan mutually at Graeme’s alarm going off, and Alan pulls Graeme into his arms, burying his face between his shoulder blades. “I don’t wanna get up,” he says in a whiny voice, and Graeme snorts.

“I think _I’m_ supposed to be the one that doesn’t want to get up for school, Alan.”

“I don’t want you to get up, either.” Alan sighs, moving farther up to press a kiss to his neck. “But since you do have to, and it’s your first day of school, I’m going to make you breakfast.” Graeme laughs again, until Alan pokes him in the side. “What, are you doubting my skills?”

“Yes. Unless you’re making me a Dutch Baby.”

“Smart ass. How hard can eggs be?” He nips at Graeme’s ear in retribution, and then he’s out of the bed, padding toward the kitchen, not bothering to get dressed.

Graeme watches him leave, a silly little smile on his face. No one had ever made a big deal out of his first day of school before. He’s pretty sure he’s somehow managed to end up with the sweetest guy on planet.

He drags himself out of bed and to the master bath. He’s in the middle of shampooing when Alan opens the door to the shower. “Phase one, decaf coffee, light not sweet, just how you like it.” He passes the mug off, grins play-lecherously at Graeme’s naked body through his steamed-up glasses, and leaves again just as quickly.

Alan had shaved him yesterday, which is close enough for him to get away with not shaving today, so Graeme just skips to teeth brushing, which of course makes the rest of the coffee gross.

“Phase two, getting dressed,” Alan announces from the walk-in closet just as Graeme walks back into the bedroom, and Graeme nearly drops his mug.

He puts a hand over his galloping heart, instead. “Alan, Jesus Christ, what the fuck?”

Alan just grins. “You should wear this.” He holds up a cerulean sweater. “It’ll make your eyes look amazing.”

Graeme unwraps his towel and tosses it on his hook. He’s beyond comfortable with nudity around Alan, but there are some parts of being with Alan that still make him uncomfortable, like expensive clothing, for instance. “That’s _cashmere,_ Alan. And it’s yours.”

“So? You wear my pajamas.”

Graeme blushes, turning to the drawers to get underwear.

“Aw, baby, no, I didn’t mean it like that.” Alan crosses to him, his hand caressing over Graeme’s shoulder in comfort. “I _like_ it when you wear my stuff. You look all comfy and cozy, and I saw you last week, in the closet, rubbing this sweater against your cheek, and I...I just… thought it would be cozy for you. Comfortable.”

Graeme’s fingers reach out and touch the fabric of their own volition. It is _so_ fucking soft. He meets Alan’s eyes, then laughs softly at the waggling eyebrows Alan is trying to convince him with. He takes the sweater, pulling it over his head. “How’s it look?” He’s smiling when he looks back at Alan, then inhales quickly at the look of ardent, obvious desire on Alan’s face.

“After the crop top and boxer briefs, and this…” Alan pulls him in for a hug, sweeping down the cashmere and pulling him up against him roughly by his asscheeks. “I think I might have a thing for you in no pants and large sweaters. You look entirely too comfortable and fuckable.”

_“Alan.”_

“What can I say? I like wrapping you up in soft things. And also unwrapping you.”

Graeme reaches down to pinch Alan’s ass. “You’re—”

“Don’t finish that sentence, just get dressed and come out to the kitchen.” Alan leans in to nip at the part of Graeme’s neck that’s exposed by the over-large sweater, then grins and walks away.

 

The eggs are getting overcooked, but Graeme has been forced to sit at the counter under penalty of punishment during play time. Besides, he’ll eat overcooked eggs if it means watching Alan’s cute butt wiggle in his boxers in front of the oven, a towel thrown over his shoulder as he sings along to something playing on Spotify.

It amuses Graeme to no end that _he’s_ the podcast guy and Alan is the music guy, considering their ages.

“Breakfast of champions,” Alan declares, sliding eggs onto Graeme’s plate, then grabbing the toast from the toaster and tossing it towards Graeme.

With a laugh, Graeme catches it and begins to butter it. He insides go all squishy, though, when Alan follows up the toast with a sweet kiss pressed to his hair before he sits down beside him. Graeme nudges him with his shoulder as he passes the butter and starts on the raspberry jam. “Thank you, honey.”

Alan beams at the pet name. “You sure you don’t want Hendrick to take you and pick you up?”

“I mean, I don’t mind using him in a pinch, if I’m running late or something, but I’m perfectly capable of using the bus.”

“He’s going to be so disappointed that you’re embarrassed of him,” Alan says, deadpan.

“Alan—” Graeme pauses, realizing he has no idea what Alan’s middle name is. “Alan middle name Garry, you better not have told him that I was embarrassed of him, or I’m—”

“Leonard.”

Graeme’s fork drops in his eggs. _“Leonard.”_

“It gets worse. Alan’s not actually my first name.”

“Oh, Mike and Linda, oh no,” Graeme whispers. _“Leonard Alan Garry?”_

Alan cringes as he confirms it with a nod.

“Oh, honey.”

“I mean, it’s kind of a funny story, unless, of course, you’re the major nerd with your big nerd glasses and your retainer and uncanny knack for numbers.”

“Ohhhh, honey.” Graeme pulls Alan into a side hug, still shaking a little with laughter.

“Basically Mom was like, ‘we’re naming him Leonard after my grandfather’ and Dad was like ‘you can name him Leonard but I’m calling him Alan’ and, well. There we go.”

“Okay, next Sunday, I’m having a serious talk with Linda about this. _Leonard._ Not even, like, Leonardo? Leo? Anything but Leonard?”

“Well, it’s not exactly a secret since it’s on all my public records, and stuff, but anyway, now you know.”

Graeme elbows him lovingly. “Hey, it’s not like it’s your darkest secret, eh, Daddy?”

“Shut up, smartass,” Alan says even as he pulls Graeme into his lap to attack his face with kisses until Graeme is squirming and giggling. Then it slows, sweetens, as Alan deepens the kiss.

“I should get going,” Graeme murmurs against his lips.

“You know you can text me anytime you need to, right? I’ll keep my phone on me all day.”

“Thank you. For everything.” He snuggles into a hug as Alan strokes over his back.

“You’re going to be amazing, sweetheart. I’ll see you right back here tonight.”

Graeme reluctantly pulls away after one more kiss, and grabs his new messenger bag. He and Alan had gone shopping the week before for school supplies; Alan, the nerd, had said it was always his favorite part of a new school year. Graeme had let him indulge himself, trying not to do the math in his head or look at the total on the receipt as they walked through the office supply store and got Graeme set up with everything, including a brand new laptop.  

The thought of everything packed into his messenger bag still makes Graeme a little queasy. He’d never done the school supply shopping trip before, his mom always relying on the kindness of teachers and schools and donations.

He presses one more quick peck to Alan’s cheek before he’s wrapping himself up in his new raincoat and heading out the door, headphones already plugged in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at my boy, heading off to college. I'm proud of you, Graeme. <3


	4. Sensory Deprivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a stressful day, Alan helps Graeme go to non-erotic subspace.

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
Early April/Oct. 3

| 

**Sensory Deprivation** | Temperature Play | ~~Edgeplay~~ | ~~Knife Play~~

| 

_Feel like I need a scene - sensory deprivation was kind of fun last time? - G_

  


_Everything okay? - A_  
  
The fact that Graeme’s texts have been few and far between has Alan chewing his lip on the way up to the apartment. He’d been quiet the last few days, after his first class, and anxious this morning. Alan’s not overly surprised when only the cats greet him at the door. 

“In here,” Graeme’s voice calls from the kitchen. 

Like always, Alan’s heart softens when he sees his boyfriend. Right now, Graeme is looking extra adorable with his long sleeves rolled up past his elbows and an apron tied around his body. He’s surrounded by mounds of chopped vegetables — enough for several party trays — and he doesn’t look up as Alan enters, intent on the red pepper he’s cutting into thin strips. Alan frowns as he sees the large bandage on his left hand, covered by a glove. “Practicing?”

Graeme nods, going even more slowly and precisely. “Knife cuts are the foundation of cooking. If I can’t get this right, I’m not going to be able to do this.” 

He sounds a bit like he’s parroting someone like his teacher, or maybe a textbook or something. “Did you get hurt?” 

At that, Graeme stops, setting down the knife and flexing his gloved left hand. “Yeah, and I ruined everything on my cutting board. It had to be thrown out.” 

Alan purses his lips at the mechanical way Graeme answers. “I’m a little more concerned about you than the food, sweetheart.” 

“It’s okay,” Graeme dismisses with a wave of his hand, picking up his knife to resume. “I’m just— I feel like I have a lot of catching up to do.” 

Looking again at the piles of vegetables Graeme has already cut, Alan picks up a carrot stick and bites into it. “How long have you been practicing?”

“Since Hendrick and I got home from the store with all these veggies, so like—” Graeme looks up at the microwave clock. “Shit, like, 3 hours?” He frowns, setting the knife down again, and straightening his shoulders, looking for the first time recalcitrant, like he didn't know until Alan pointed it out that he was in a spiral. “Ow. Okay. Maybe I should stop.” 

“Maybe so.” Alan comes around the counter, running his hands over Graeme’s tight shoulders and pressing a kiss under his ear. He reaches down, unknotting the apron and lifting it over Graeme’s head.

Graeme’s hands are a little shaky, whether from low blood sugar or being so tense for hours or the subdrop-like dip in hormones after an anxiety attack, Alan isn’t sure. Rustling through the fridge, Alan finds the container of hummus, scoops several handfuls of various veggies into a bowl, and leads Graeme toward the couch. 

He wants to ask Graeme if it’s worth it, if it’s working, if he’s okay. He knows that all of those questions will make Graeme think that Alan doesn’t believe in him, which in turn will gut Graeme’s confidence, making his nascent culinary career crash and burn in a self-fulfilling prophecy. 

So he just has to figure out how to support Graeme the best he can. And subdrop, that he has been trained how to deal with. 

He peels the glove off of Graeme’s hand so Graeme’s wound can breathe and tosses it to the side table. It takes less than a second to inspect the little red welt and reassure himself Graeme doesn't need the emergency room. “We’re just going to relax for a little bit, okay, baby?”

“Okay.” Graeme gives him the tiniest smile, leaning into his body for comfort and warmth. Now that Alan has forced him to slow down and take stock, he almost seems relieved to be out of the spiral that kept him chained to the island counter.   


Pulling out his phone, Alan slips the earbuds into Graeme’s ears. “Just close your eyes and let the sounds take you away.” He sets the white noise app to play. 

Graeme complies sweetly, letting Alan pull him onto his lap in a straddle, and then resting his head on Alan’s shoulder. Alan can still feel the trembles going through his body, the aftermath of the adrenaline brought by anxiety. He picks up another carrot piece and scoops a healthy amount of hummus onto it. Massaging lightly over Graeme’s jaw line, he holds the carrot to Graeme’s lips and waits for Graeme to accept the food. 

It’s like a form of the kneeling and hand-feeding submissives perform that’s just a little nicer to Graeme’s knees, Alan realizes. And just like that act of submission can help a sub reach their headspace, Graeme seems to melt against his body. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, even though he knows Graeme can’t hear him. He realizes that Graeme must have been able to feel the vibrations of his voice in his chest, though, because he makes a small noise of happiness. 

Alan likes it, the hand feeding. More than he thought he would. Idly he wonders if kneeling might be good for Graeme, if it might help quiet his anxiety. Alan hasn’t really dipped into any of the more lifestyle aspects of BDSM, preferring scenes with set starts and ends. He can see the appeal here, though. 

Another part of him worries over Graeme’s anxiety. He knows it’s useless to worry, but just like Graeme, it’s hard for him to stop it once it starts. He can give Graeme everything he needs to survive, moreover, to thrive, to grow, to go beyond what he once thought were his limits, but he can’t take Graeme’s anxiety away, and that eats at him now, with Graeme quiet in his lap, only the crunching sound of veggies and hummus in the room. 

When the snack is done, Graeme’s better — he’s no longer trembling and his face and posture are relaxed. Slowly, Alan works the cell phone sound down until it has gone completely silent, and he pulls the earbuds out. He brings Graeme back up with a slow massage over his back. 

“That was really nice,” Graeme eventually murmurs. “Think I went down for a bit.” 

“You did, but I had you.” 

“You always have me.” Graeme’s arms squeeze him into a close hug, and Graeme presses a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.” 

Alan can’t shake the feeling that he’s not doing enough for Graeme, that Graeme still suffers, and he needs to be helping him fight. And then he suppresses that feeling, hugging Graeme back. “No problem. Shall we make dinner? We certainly have enough veggies for a great batch of fajitas.”

 

“So where’s your cuter half?” Krista goes up on her tiptoes to air kiss both of Alan’s cheeks. Considering the mile-high heels she’s wearing, she doesn’t have to stretch far. 

“Off being cute at school.” He holds out his arm, and Krista takes it happily as they walk towards lunch later that week. “He wanted to come, but he’s been really stressed recently, worried about how he’s doing. I keep telling him he’s only been at it for a week, but… I think he’s practicing in the food lab?”

Truth be told, Alan’s worried. Can’t help but be worried at how much Graeme seems to be struggling with school, and he can’t  _ see _ anything more he can do to help. He spends long hours wracking his brain, trying to figure out how to be there for Graeme, and it all seems fruitless.

“Okay, well, I’ll send him an encouraging text.” 

“Would you? That’d be great. I think he’s tired of hearing it from me.” 

Krista rolls her eyes. “I’m fairly sure Graeme will never be tired of hearing anything from you. The way he hung on your every word at the last munch?” She whistles, shaking her head. “Living the dream, my man.” 

“I really am.” The worry, ever present, churns in his gut. 

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you not to take it for granted.” 

Alan thinks of his best friend Tommy, body broken at the tender age of 17. Suddenly lunch doesn't sound so appealing. Maybe they'll have something light. “I won’t.” 

Krista squeezes his arm. “Okay, so how’s everything else?”

 

A few days later finds Alan rubbing his face as he sits across from Clarissa. “He won’t talk to me about it. He won’t open up. I thought he was doing better, but it’s like we’ve gone back steps.” 

Clarissa purses her lips thoughtfully. “You said ‘we,’ there. I’d like to think about that for a moment. Do you feel like you share his anxiety disorder?” 

Alan picks at his thumbnail, avoiding Clarissa’s eyes. “I know I’m not supposed to…” 

“That’s a good thing to recognize, Alan. It’s hard to resist things we’re not supposed to do sometimes, isn’t it? The other day, my husband made these  _ amazing _ eclairs and my blood sugar meter said no, but my everything else said yes.” She offers a comforting smile. “And it’s okay. I’m okay. I balanced it with some protein and monitored myself and everything was fine. Graeme’s anxiety is _always_ going to be present. I know you know that. He’s going to have periods in his life where everything is very intense and he has a hard time handling it. And when he does, when he comes to me, I can work with him regarding dosage and therapy. But for you, we need to work on your self-monitoring, I think.”

“I feel like I’m not doing enough. I just want him to be okay. I'm supposed to be the one that's helping him.” 

“He would say the same thing about you. He would hate that you’re distressed right now, too, right?”

“Yeah,” Alan admits. 

“Secure your own air mask first.” 

“Yeah.” He’s heard it before; it’s just so damned hard to follow. “Yeah,” he repeats, more determined. 

Clarissa lets him sit with that thought for a minute before giving him a small smile. “Are you ready for him to come in?”

“Yeah. Yes. I’ll get him.” 

It should seem weird, probably, to have couples therapy when it’s not like their relationship is in trouble. After that first time, though, where they’d hammered out their Sugar Daddy contract with Clarissa’s help, both he and Graeme had liked the idea of having a neutral party to discuss relationship stuff with. For Alan, it’s worth the investment.

They sit together on the couch, Graeme’s hand folded in his, as Clarissa clears her throat. “Alan, if you’d like, I think it would make sense for you to go first.” 

Graeme squeezes his hand in comfort, turning slightly more toward him so that they’re eye to eye. Alan takes a deep breath, looking at those beautiful gray eyes he loves so much. “I’m going to be working on being more self-aware about my own anxiety levels.” 

“Okay.” Graeme glances quickly at Clarissa, then remembers the rest of the prompt. “How can I support you?” When Alan falters, unsure, Graeme continues, “I feel like I’m really selfish, all the time, with how much you support me with my anxiety, and I want to be more aware of when you’re feeling anxious, too.” 

Alan immediately smooths a hand over Graeme’s cheek. “It’s not selfish. That’s not how I see it at all.”

“How can you help me  _ see _ you? What can I look for?”

“I think it’s more like — more like I could use help being reminded that I need to remember myself. That if I’m not taking care of me, then I can’t take care of you, either. So, um.” Alan chews his lip, and Graeme squeezes his hand again, encouraging. “I know like,  _ during _ a spiral is not a good time, but maybe after, if you're able? Kind of like when you check in with me after a scene? I think that might— I mean, it's not necessary, but it would be nice.” 

“Of course it would be nice, sweetie. I should have thought of that." Again, Graeme glances at Clarissa, and corrects himself. "But I know now, and now I can take action, and that's okay too.” He leans forward, hugging Alan and kissing his cheek. “Thanks for telling me.” 

“And Graeme?” Clarissa quietly prompts. 

Graeme looks down at their joined hands, then scrubs his free one over his face. “I’m so scared I’m going to fail this whole college thing, and then you’ll be disappointed in me. I’ll have let you down.” His hand comes free and twists with the other one, rubbing over his jeans in his nervous tic. “I feel so slow and stupid, and everyone else just  _ gets _ everything and I’m left behind, practicing for hours and never getting better.” 

He looks up at Alan’s face, then away again. “I quit,” he whispers. “I— the other day, I started having a panic attack in the kitchen and I cut open my hand during it and I just walked out.” 

“Graeme—”

Graeme rubs moisture out of his eyes. “My teacher Roxie, she stopped me. And took me to the student help center, and helped me figure out a plan. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve people like you and Roxie that are willing to help me. And— and I’m still terrified that I’m going to fail, but I’m still doing it. And I’m trying not to rely on you for everything, for all the support, emotional and financial, because I don’t want to hurt you, and I feel like maybe I’m hurting you…”

“Thank you for telling me,” Alan says sincerely, wiping a tear from Graeme’s cheek. “If you check in with me more, and I tell you that you’re not hurting me, do you think you can accept it?”

Graeme looks determined. “I’m going to work on it.” He holds out a finger for a pinkie swear, and Alan takes it with a grin. 

Clarissa looks up from her notepad and smiles, too. “That was really good, guys. There’s some stuff here I want to work with both of you on separately, next time, but I think that homework is a really good starting place. Let’s try keeping to that for two weeks and seeing how you feel at the next appointment?”

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
Early April/Oct. 3

| 

**Sensory Deprivation** | Temperature Play | ~~Edgeplay~~ | ~~Knife Play~~

| 

_Feel like I need a scene - sensory deprivation was kind of fun last time? - G_

  


_Everything okay? - A_

  


_Are we going to do this? Sorry I’ve been so out of it lately. - G_

  


_We already did, sweetie - A_

  


_What? Wait, was it the time on the couch? - G_

  


_Kink doesn’t mean sex - A_

  


_Valid - G_


	5. Mirror Sex

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
Mid April/ Oct. 4

| 

Spanking _(Been there, very happily done that! - G)_  | Mirror Sex _(??? on this one. - G)_ | Spit-roasting | ~~Dacryphilia (Crying)~~

| 

_Re: spit-roasting, have you ever had a threesome? - G_

  


_Yeah, kind of - would you want to? - A_

  


_How do you ‘kind of’ have a threesome? - G_  
  
Graeme’s trying, he really is. He’s trying, and struggling, and doing his best to make it with every coping mechanism he knows how to use. And still, he feels like he’s only being a second-rate boyfriend to Alan. 

They’d made an agreement during their time with Clarissa, and Graeme is working his best to honor it. Checking in with Alan is easy, but he still feels like he’s being too selfish. Like Alan should be with someone who’s not so high-maintenance. Someone who can bring more to the table. 

He already spent the calm Saturday morning making breakfast for them, and then performing some of the more in-depth cleaning tasks the cleaners don’t get to, like organizing Alan’s socks. Several hours later, and he feels adequately useful to his boyfriend. And, it seems, Alan is ready for a break from work, because he comes looking for Graeme and seems surprised to find him on the floor of the walk-in closet. 

“We should drop this bag off at a donation place, or a shelter. Lots of good socks in here that you never wear, and also I fixed the hole in that t-shirt…” Graeme points up. 

“It’s—" Alan gets that look on his face when he's worried that something Graeme is doing is self-destructive, but he tries to school it into something else. "Thank you, sweetheart. You didn’t have to do this.” 

Graeme knows that Alan knows that’s a lie. Well, a half-lie. Sure, he didn’t  _ have _ to do this for Alan, but he has to do this  _ for _ Alan. At least, there’s a difference in Graeme’s brain. And Graeme sincerely wants to be a person who doesn't feel that way, but he doesn't know how to. “No problem.” 

“I’ve got tea steeping, if you’re ready for a break? I am,” Alan offers with a smile, obviously hopeful Graeme will take the distraction.  


Graeme's nails dig into his palm. He— he should stop, yeah. He lets Alan pull him up off the ground and then groans, stretching and hearing popping noises all down his back. “Oof. Okay. Um. Before we go out there...” His hands twist together. “This is me trying to express myself, okay?” 

Alan looks at him very seriously, waiting. 

“If I do stuff like this, I feel less bad about myself being a really bad boyfriend.” He lets the statement out with a whoosh of breath, like just voicing it out loud means he can relax, because then it's _out there_ and not bottled up inside, and he knows Alan well enough to know Alan's not going to freak out on him.  


Alan’s lips press together. “When you say you’re a bad boyfriend, I feel like— shouldn’t it be me who gets to be the judge of that?”

“And when you try to be rational, the jerkbrain just— just rejects it, and I’m going to work on recognizing that.” He blows out his breath and gives Alan a small nod. “Okay, do you think that’s good enough for now?”

“It may feel like tearing off a band-aid, but Clarissa would be proud of you.  _ I’m  _ proud of you. Of us.” Alan brushes a kiss over his brow. “Tea?”

“Yes, please.” 

 

They settle into the couch together, curled into each other, steam rising from their mugs. “Would you like to scene today?”

Graeme leans his head on Alan’s shoulder. It feels like it’s been ages since they had sex. Really, the last time Graeme got off was the night of spanking, which was only three weeks ago. Still feels like a long time for them. He pulls his phone out to look at the Kinktober spreadsheet. “You know what? I’d love to.” 

“What’s on the docket?” 

Graeme ignores spanking, which they’ve already done, and dacryphilia, which he’s not going to knock, because everything is someone’s kink, but he doesn’t see the appeal. “Mirror sex? Like, watching you fuck me in a mirror?” 

Alan hums. “Could be that. Or you could masturbate in a mirror.” 

“What? Why would anyone want to watch themselves masturbate in a mirror?” 

“‘Why would anyone’ is a question often asked in kink, honey, and one that only has one answer, no matter what the kink: because it gets them off. Because it feels good.” 

“Okay, fair. I don’t think  _ I  _ would find it hot to watch myself get off.” 

“Mmm. Well. You should see it from my perspective. Watching you get off is one of my favorite pastimes.” 

“You think you can show me the appeal?”

Alan laughs. “Well, I can certainly try, can’t I?”

 

“Color?”

“Um.” 

Graeme is seated on one of the dining chairs that’s been dragged back to their bedroom, and if he looks directly ahead, like he’s currently avoiding doing, he’ll see himself reflected in the mirror hanging on their closet door. He won’t see Alan unless he twists his head awkwardly, and he has basically no choice but to look at himself. 

When they’d discussed this scene, Graeme hadn’t thought this would be a problem. He hadn’t necessarily thought this sounded very kinky, but he also didn’t think he’d be so  _ uncomfortable _ looking at his naked self in the mirror.

Now, though — now, since he hasn’t answered the color check, Alan comes to kneel in between his legs and kiss his knee. “What’s up, baby?”

“I don’t know if— I’m not sure I can do this.” 

“Do you want to color out?” Alan massages over his calf, providing a comforting strength. 

“Would you stay with me? Just— so I can see you.” 

“Yeah, baby boy, I can do that.” He walks back around, sitting on the bed, so Graeme can see his face. “Color?”

Graeme takes a deep breath, looking over Alan’s fully clothed body in contrast to his nudity, at the love in Alan’s eyes. “Green, for now.” 

“Okay, baby. I’m going to start with the commands now. If you don’t follow instructions, there will be consequences, okay?”

“Yes, Daddy.” 

“Always such a good boy for me. I want you to look yourself in the eyes.” 

Graeme doesn’t like taking pictures of himself. He’s only started doing it more recently so he can send selfies to Alan. Looking at himself in the mirror is one of the harder things he’s forced himself to do, but after a minute or so, he finally complies. 

“Good, perfect. I want you to run your left hand over your chest.” 

Graeme’s fingers follow Alan’s bidding without thinking about it, but when his reflection moves with him, he almost jumps. It feels awkward, weird, watching his own hand move over his chest. Alan’s smiling, though, like he approves, and that’s a feeling Graeme craves. 

“So good. Slide over your nipple now. Oh, yeah, look at that, already hard, isn’t it? God, I can’t wait to try nipple clamps on you. You’re going to fucking go insane, you’re so responsive, baby boy.” 

Graeme lets out a little whimper as he continues to watch himself stroke over his nipple, pinching at it the way he loves. At Alan’s command, he switches, lavishing attention on the other one. It still feels strange, watching himself do this, but even he can admit that there’s something cute about the way the play has raised a flush on his cheeks. 

“I want you to wrap a hand around your cock and stroke until you’re fully hard. No longer.” 

Eyes still on his own eyes, Graeme reaches down and takes himself in hand. It takes a stupidly short amount of time before he’s hard and he stops, resting his hand on his thigh. 

“Look at yourself, baby boy. You’re so pretty.” 

“Am I?” Graeme looks down, his cock straining up towards his stomach, flushed red and leaking a little drop of precum. It’s— well. It’s pretty, he supposes. 

“You are. Want me to show you?”

Graeme’s “Yeah” is breathless. 

Alan pulls a chair up behind Graeme, and massages over his shoulders. “Keep watching yourself.” He moves his fingers up Graeme’s sensitive neck, making him shiver, then brushes over the brown waves of Graeme’s hair. “I like this, how you get just a little sweaty when we play, at the start, and it makes your hair go curly. So cute.” 

He presses a kiss to Graeme’s cheek. “And how you get all flushed with pleasure, so unabashed. I can always see on your face how I’m making you feel. It’s heady. I like knowing that I’ve done that to you. I could live off of watching you respond to me. How your eyes turn a dark grey, like rainstorm grey, when you’re aroused. It’s my new favorite color.” 

Graeme wants to scoff, but he can hear the sincerity in Alan’s voice, and— and he can actually sort of  _ see _ what Alan is talking about. 

“I love how your body flushes everywhere for me.” Alan runs his hands down Graeme’s chest, sweeping over his sensitive nipples again and moving lower, over his stomach. There, he’s light, purposeful — he remembers Graeme doesn’t like to be tickled there, apparently. “Look what a pretty pink your skin is.” 

It’s hard for Graeme to tell if it’s his Texas-sized praise kink or the mirror that’s making him go under, but he is, he notes, his eyes getting a little glazy. He already looks a little fucked out, he thinks, and his breath is already coming faster. 

Alan presses into his back so he can run his hands over Graeme’s thighs, massaging them, teasing at Graeme’s cock, between his legs, over his perineum. “Of course, we’re covering up that gorgeous ass. Shame. I should get you some jock straps for events. Maybe a chest harness. too. You’d look amazing.” 

“Daddy—” 

“What’s that, baby?” Alan whispers in his ear.

“Can I— please can you touch me?” 

“I am touching you,” he teases, laughing a little when Graeme groans. 

“Torturing me, more like.” 

“Such a sassy boy today.” Alan circles his cock and strokes it in one long, slow movement, and Graeme groans again, thinking he’s won. He arches into Alan’s hand, chasing his orgasm, seeking it, finding it—

And then Alan squeezes the bottom of his dick, effectively cutting the orgasm off, and Graeme whimpers. “That’s what sassy boys get.” 

With his free hand, he starts to play with Graeme’s nipples again. “Look at yourself. Look at you. What a gorgeous little sub, all needy for it.” 

He does look, almost can’t recognize himself as this creature anymore. This isn’t the person that takes bad selfies and hates posing for pictures. Graeme almost believes that the sweaty, leaking, panting mess of a man reflecting back at him is worthy of the label ‘gorgeous.’ 

And if his own image didn’t quite get him all the way there, seeing Alan’s appreciative eyes certainly convinces him. He supports his head against Alan’s chest, watching himself through half-lidded eyes as Alan starts stroking him again. 

He’s not sure how long Alan keeps him there, bringing him to the edge of orgasm only to deny its release, forcing him to watch himself be pleasured, taking his hand away when Graeme lets his eyes fall shut in pleasure. 

In the end, he wants it so badly he can barely concentrate on the image in front of him, afraid he’ll come just seeing how flushed he is, how good Alan’s big hand looks wrapped around his cock. His stomach is jittery with the continued excitement never being sated. 

“Watch yourself come for me,” Alan finally whispers, stroking his cock hard, with seemingly the perfect amount of pressure. 

“Daddy—” Graeme chokes, watching his cum shoot over Alan’s hand and hit the mirror. 

“So beautiful. My favorite thing to watch.” 

Graeme shudders and shivers through it, euphoria washing through him finally. He slumps in the chair, watching his chest rise and fall, seeing the lazy contentment on his own face. “Fuck.” 

“Mhmm. Does that help answer your question?”

Graeme lets out a little laugh. “Yeah, Alan, I think I'm good.” 

“I  _ know _ you’re good. C’mon, Graeme, baby, time for snuggles.” 

“Mmm. My favorite.” He lets Alan wrap him in a robe and pull him back to the bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My buddies I was just introduced to these beautiful folks and I can't get enough of them. They seem to me, a little like what Alan and Graeme might be in 10 years if they keep going as they are. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cgXwrKFMn_g


	6. Shotgunning

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
Early May/ Oct. 5

| 

~~Feet~~ | Sadism/Masochism | ~~Feederism~~ | Shotgunning

| 

_My feet aren’t sexy - A_

  


_I think they are. Like hobbit feet. - G_

  


_…  - A_

  


_What? Everyone’s entitled to their opinion! - G_

  


_You know, I’m really glad you like hairy men, because I really hate manscaping. - A_  
  
Graeme’s chewing his lip when Alan looks down from the treadmill, but he hasn’t gone full spiral-catatonic, it seems, so Alan looks back to his code. He’s trying not to be so hyper-aware of Graeme’s anxiety. Failing, most of the time, but at least he’s trying.

Thirty seconds later, though, and Graeme speaks up with, “I know weed can be really helpful for people with anxiety but like, also they say if you have anxiety it could make it worse being high, and what if I’m one of those people that it makes worse? And like, what if just by thinking that I've already doomed myself that I'm going to have a bad high and everything will be awful?”

Alan frowns at the string of seemingly incongruous thoughts, and hits pause on the treadmill. “Are you...thinking about trying weed for your anxiety? Because Mal uses CBD oil and they say it’s worked wonders. You might try texting them.” 

Graeme looks up at him, pure confusion on his face.

“Because you mentioned weed,” Alan says slowly, just as confused. 

“You can’t shotgun an oil. Or, at least, I assume you can’t.”

This time, Alan just looks at him. 

Understanding dawns on Graeme’s face and he nods down at his laptop screen. “For the fifth day on the list. We haven’t played the last two weekends, so I thought I’d look at the list and see what’s up next. Shotgunning is up. And we know I can’t like, shotgun a beer, so...weed, right?”

“Drugs and alcohol are on your hard no list.” Which he knows, because he has it memorized. What was that about trying not to be hyper-aware of Graeme’s anxiety?

“Right, but…” Graeme gestures weakly at his laptop screen. “Shotgunning.” 

Alan steps off the treadmill and sits down next to him, peering over his shoulder. “Can I?” With Graeme’s permission, Alan pulls over the laptop and runs a quick search. “Ah yeah, I thought I had heard of a position called shotgunning. Thank you, Urban Dictionary. ‘Sexual position in which the practitioner partner inserts one single barrel or two double barrel fingers into the receiving members (male) anus, while stroking the penis. The combination of anal and genital manipulation is done in sync, resembling the chamber loading of a pump action shotgun.’”

“That...that’s just fingering me while giving me a handjob.” 

“I mean, if that doesn't sound appealing—”

“In what world is that not appealing?” Graeme asks with a laugh. “Aces excepted, of course.” 

“Thank you for your special consideration. For the record, it doesn’t sound that bad to me either. Although if you ask me to choose between that and cuddling on the couch watching Arrow, I’m going to have a tough time.” 

“That salmon ladder though.” 

“Right?” At another shared laugh, he kisses Graeme as he hands him back the laptop. He taps his thigh for a second, running scenarios through his mind. Weighing his trust in Graeme and finding that it doesn't really need to be weighed at all. “It doesn’t require a scene, if you don’t want. Or we could. But, um. Actually I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to do that to me?”

Graeme perks up, back going straight. “Really? Sweetie, I’d love to!” His eyes go wide, and his hand lands on Alan’s chest, clutching at him excitedly. “Alan, we should really do it up! Like, go on a date, and go to the movies or a walk downtown if it’s warm enough, just a stroll with my guy, and then come home and make sweet, sweet love.” 

Alan’s not sure he loves Graeme more than when his genuine enthusiasm is showing through. It’s happening more and more often these days, like Graeme is flowering open. 

“That sounds perfect.” He kisses Graeme on the nose, and pushes off the couch to finish his coding. 

 

Graeme takes him to a place he’d seen on a food blog and had always wanted to try. It’s not fancy, which fits their mood perfectly, sharing fried chicken, waffle fries, and milkshakes on the same side of a booth, pressed against each other, laughing at their greasy fingers. 

It is warm enough for a stroll, and they end up stumbling upon one of Alan’s favorite adult toy shops, still open and bustling in the late May evening. With a light in his eyes, Graeme drags him in. They’ve been a couple of times before, normally just browsing, Alan making a note of any time something makes Graeme’s eyes light up. 

Like before, Graeme’s eyes do just that looking over the display of cock rings. There’s a picture of Beyonce from Single Ladies with “If you liked it then you should have put a ring on it” in the display, and it never fails to make Graeme smile. 

They haven’t tried a cock ring yet, but after the mirror sex a few weeks ago, and edging the fuck out of Graeme, Alan wants to try. He’s raising his hand to call an attendant over to open the case for them when Graeme taps on the glass and gets Alan’s attention. “Do you think that would look good on me?”

He’s pointing to a picture of a person with nipple piercings, over a small display of rings for that use. 

All of the blood seems to rearrange in Alan’s body as he contemplates Graeme with his nipples pierced, a small golden chain hanging between them that Alan can tug on. “Yes,” he chokes out, and Graeme’s eyes flare with pleasure. He gives Alan a small, secret little smile that makes Alan wonder if he’s going to come home to a boyfriend with pierced nipples someday soon. 

They discuss sizing with the attendant, Graeme blushing the entire time and tucking himself into Alan’s side, letting Alan make the decisions. It probably shouldn’t, but it makes Alan feel strong and protective. 

Outside, discreet brown bag in hand, they stroll the streets again until Graeme calls chicken to the chilling night air. “Let’s go home,” he murmurs to Alan, all sweetness and love. 

On the ride up in the elevator, their hands clasped together, Graeme looks up at Alan and smiles shyly again. “Can I, um, take the lead?” 

“Sure, sweetheart.” It’s easier to agree than Alan would think, which only goes to show exactly how much trust he now puts in Graeme. 

Graeme squeezes his hand and gives him that beautiful smile that reaches up into his eyes, the one that tells Alan that he’s not masking anything. Letting them into the apartment, Graeme slides up to press a kiss to Alan’s cheek. “I’m going to make us some tea, okay? Get comfy if you want. I was thinking we could hang out on the couch for a little while. No screens though, okay?” 

Alan bends to scoop up a purring and insistently meowing Threepio. “Yes, sir,” he adds with a peck in Graeme’s hair. 

It’s nice to hear Graeme puttering around in the kitchen while he slowly strokes over Threepio, and then Artoo, when she joins them on the couch. Alan lets his eyes slip closed, drifting in the contentment of a good evening. He’s not sleeping, but he must look it, because a few minutes later he feels Graeme drape a blanket over him. 

“‘M not sleeping,” he mumbles, pulling Graeme down into his lap. 

Graeme laughs, tucking his legs in and circling his arms around Alan’s neck. “Sure you weren’t.” 

“I’m not. I can do the ABCs backwards, see? Z, Y, X…” 

“Why would reciting the ABCs backwards prove to me that you’re not sleepy? Isn’t that a sobriety thing?” Graeme leans over to the end table to grab the big mug of tea. “Here, I only made us one to share.” 

The steam rising from the cup smells faintly of vanilla, which Alan recognizes as one of Graeme’s nighttime teas. He takes a small sip, and hands it back to Graeme. “When Sam and I were little, our dad used to read to us before bed. Sam and I would get to lay in the big bed in our parents’ room, and he’d read us, God, everything. Lord of the Rings. Jurassic Park. Nancy Drew. Probably smaller stuff when we were little, but I can’t remember. But we had this rule when we got bigger, that he couldn’t read us to sleep because we were too big to carry back to our bedrooms, so we had to be awake. So he would like, give us these tests to prove we were awake, and one of them was—” 

“Saying the ABCs backwards.” 

Alan grins. “Exactly. If we couldn’t do it, we had to get up and go to bed. I’m pretty sure I can do it in my sleep now, though.” 

“Mmm, you don’t sleep talk.” Graeme rests his cheek against Alan’s. “That’s really sweet, Alan. That’s a good tradition.” 

“Sam and Rick have kept it going with the twins, except in two languages.” 

“Perfect.” 

They take turns sipping the tea companionably. “I think I like  _ this _ bedtime tradition. A few minutes at the end of the day, no screens, to unwind? A cup of tea and a lapful of my baby? That sounds perfect to me.” 

Graeme teases his fingers over Alan’s neck. “Maybe not in the summer.” 

“Maybe not,” Alan agrees with a laugh. “But this place does have A/C.” 

“Oh shit, really? Will you marry me?” Alan chokes on the tea, and Graeme goes a deep red. “I mean— um. Sorry. It’s an expression. I wouldn’t— I mean. If— when— if we get there, I wouldn’t surprise you. We’d talk about it beforehand.” 

“You’d— you’d think about that? Maybe?” He knows his voice sounds vulnerable. “After time and talking?”

“Are you kidding?” Graeme sets the tea aside and cups Alan’s face. “No, you’re not. Why would that not be on the table? Is— I know I’m...fucked up.” 

“No! No, baby.” He turns, pressing a kiss to Graeme’s palm. “You’re just— young. Not in a bad way, just, you know, I’ve had years and years to find the perfect person for me, and you— haven’t,” he finishes weakly. 

“I don’t need to go looking for the perfect person for me, I’ve found him.” Graeme sounds obstinate, and his eyebrows are pressing together. 

“I don’t mean to make it sound like you can’t make a decision. Just, what if someone else comes along that gets you more, is closer to your age?”

“Yeah,” Graeme says softly, leaning in to rest their foreheads together. “What if someone comes along that gets you more and is closer to your age?”

“You worry about that, too?” Alan feels like an idiot. “I’m sorry, I should have realized… I sound so stupid and insecure right now.” 

“Being cautious isn’t stupid, believe me. It’s the only way to survive in most situations.” 

“Baby.” Alan wraps his arms around Graeme and hugs him. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, I’m glad you said something aloud. I should have, too. Clarissa will be so disappointed in us.” Graeme smiles, just a little, and Alan feels his heart lighten. Graeme places a palm on his chest. “So, nothing’s off the table, okay? Not from my end. Don’t count me out.” 

“Never.” Alan slides their lips together softly. “And don’t count me out.” 

“Never.” He rubs their noses together. “Can I show you just how much you mean to me?”

“Yes, please, yes,” Alan says with a laugh.  

He plasters himself to Alan’s body, taking the kiss deeper, drowning anything else Alan might want to say. Alan’s not sure how he could put his foot in his mouth more, so it’s not like he’s exactly missing the opportunity. Instead, he focuses on Graeme, and how Graeme just dealt with that situation like the mother-fucking mature badass that he’s becoming — is, already? He lets Graeme tangle his fingers in his short hair and rub against his beard and fog up his glasses until Alan has to set them aside. 

“Can I make love to you?” Graeme whispers, and Alan can’t do anything but nod enthusiastically. 

Graeme twists their fingers together and pulls him to the bedroom. He takes care of Alan’s clothes himself, then gets naked and presses them to the bed. Everything is slow and languid as Graeme runs his lips everywhere, worshiping Alan’s body, the only sounds in the room the short breaths Alan is taking. 

Graeme’s so good with him, so good with the insecurities he has with his body. He slides over Alan’s stomach quickly, kissing instead at the base of Alan’s cock. His hands run over Alan’s thighs and he hums in appreciation. Alan’s never met anyone as obsessed with his thighs as Graeme is, and it makes him feel warm through and through, just like the tea had. 

Graeme’s lips around his cock are as sweet as ever, working him up to hardness slowly but steadily. Alan can’t help but look down at him, watching his lips get a little swollen and pink, seeing how his eyes close as he finds his own pleasure in blowing Alan. 

Hell, a lot of the time, Alan can take or leave sex, at least sex that involves his cock, but watching Graeme blow him is quite possibly his favorite thing. 

He lets his fingers pet through Graeme’s hair, rubs his thumb over Graeme’s cheek. Graeme hums in pleasure, running his tongue over Alan’s slit in appreciation. He settles between Alan’s thighs, getting comfortable for the long haul, apparently, which is fine by Alan. 

Eventually, though, he lets Alan’s cock slip from between his lips, opening his eyes and piercing Alan with his gaze. “Hand me the lube?”

He says it like a question, like he’s giving Alan the chance to color out, which Alan appreciates. In answer, he wordlessly grabs the lube from the side table and tosses it down to Graeme. 

Graeme smiles as he presses Alan’s thighs apart, exposing everything to him. Alan has lots of bad memories — well, unpleasant, maybe, is fairer — in this position, but the look on Graeme’s face is worshipful and makes Alan’s blood run even hotter than before. 

“Color?”

“Green, baby. I’m good.” 

“I love you. Like, a lot a lot.” 

Alan grins, reaching down to pop the lube open, taking Graeme’s hand, and pouring some on his fingers. “I love you a lot a lot, too.” 

Graeme captures him with his unlubed hand and kisses his fingers, then pushes him back to rest on the pillows. His eyes meet Alan’s directly. “I’m going to take care of you.” 

Alan recognizes it for the vow it is, recognizes that Graeme means well beyond the bedroom. He relaxes into the bed, trusting Graeme at his word. 

And take care of him, Graeme does. He circles Alan’s rim with one slick finger, pressing in gently, slowly, and smoothly, watching Alan’s face the whole time. He makes Alan feel utterly safe, cherished, loved. It’s— it feels so different than before, with his ex, and it  _ is _ that trust between them that makes the difference. Alan knows, deep in his blood, that Graeme is here for him, even if his mind says stupid things to try and ruin it. 

Graeme slips another finger in, and Alan gasps as he more effectively finds his prostate now. Graeme gives him a little grin. “Feel good, Daddy?” 

Even though they aren’t doing a scene, and even though Graeme isn’t going to be going under, Alan can’t help but play back with, “The best, baby boy.” 

His thumb begins to play over Alan’s perineum, teasing delightfully. He shifts, circling his free hand around Alan’s cock and pumping it at the same time he fucks his fingers in. Alan groans, trying to arch into both feelings at once and cursing under his breath. 

And then Graeme pauses, does both motions again, then makes a strange face. Alan’s about to ask, when it becomes obvious that Graeme is trying to hold back laughter. 

“What?” 

Graeme looks up at him, then lets it out, his laughter shaking his fingers inside Alan, which is truly a unique feeling. 

_ “What?” _

“Just— it’s just so ridiculous, oh god, sorry.” Graeme attempts to wipe his eye without spreading lube on his face, still shivering with giggles. “Just—” He puts his hand around Alan’s cock again, pumping while he makes a sound with his mouth. “It’s just a ridiculous sex position, like, I mean, the  _ position _ isn’t, but—” He makes the sound again, and Alan slowly realizes he’s replicating the sound of a shotgun being cocked. 

And then Alan laughs, because it really  _ is _ ridiculous. And he laughs as Graeme mimics the shotgun again while dissolving into giggles, and he laughs as he pulls Graeme up along his body. “Come here,” he says between bouts of laughter. 

Graeme’s mouth crushes his in a kiss made sloppy by the fact that both of them are still laughing. With a smile, biting on his lip, Graeme reaches down between them and wraps his hand around their cocks and in short order they’re coming like that, still giggling, eyes bright, lips locked. 

He lets Graeme drape over him — loves it, honestly — as he presses kiss everywhere he can reach on Graeme’s face. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he murmurs with each kiss, Graeme blushing under his ministrations. 

Graeme runs his fingers down Alan’s arm and finds his hand, clasping them together. “I’m growing with you, not away from you,” he whispers. “No, let me say this,” he says when Alan tries to apologize. “I can’t predict what I’ll feel like, what you’ll feel like, months or years from now. But I’m growing  _ with _ you. We’re doing this together. Okay?”

Alan pulls their hands up and presses a kiss to Graeme’s knuckle. “I’m growing with you, too. Together.” He kisses Graeme’s brow. “I’m sorry.” 

Graeme gives him a wry smile. “We’re going to say stupid shit to each other. Especially when one of us is hangry. But that’s what we have therapy for, right?” He slips his pinkie around Alan’s. “I tried to make a rash decision for us a few weeks ago, so I know this is a lot coming from me, but no big decisions without discussing them with Clarissa, okay? I’ll promise if you promise.” 

“So no more breaking up with me in the middle of a park?” Alan smiles wryly, shaking Graeme’s pinkie. 

“Exactly. And no more presuming my future or  _ our _ future without talking to me.” 

“Deal.” Wrapping his arms around his man, Alan presses his lips to Graeme’s as he lifts them up and carries them to the shower. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, urban dictionary.


	7. Biting

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
Late May/ October 6

| 

**Daddy |** Corset **| Cock Worship | Biting**

| 

_I’m at a loss here - G_

  


_We’ll take one of everything, waiter - A_

  


_:rofl emoji: - G_  
  
Graeme wipes sweat off his brow with the back of his sleeve and concentrates on the sauce attempting to form in front of him. It would not be the first time he’s fucked up a roux,  _ today,  _ even. 

Miraculously, the bechamel thickens, and some of the tension seeps out of Graeme’s body. He continues to add ingredients, turning the white sauce into a gravy for biscuits. Comfort food is on the menu today. 

“Nice work, Webster,” his instructor says as she walks by. “Ramon, what’s that?” 

Graeme looks over at his kitchen mate, Mira, who’s bechamel is failing to come together. 

“I’ll try again, ma’am.” Mira turns to Graeme, giving him desperate eyes.  _ “Help!”  _ she says under her breath after the instructor has moved on. She takes her pan and empties it in the garbage - again. 

Graeme checks his own gravy, moves it off the heat, and heads over to help her. She’s flustered, which is why she’s making mistakes. Graeme understands. With just a week left until their lab final, everything seems to be coming down to the wire. He had such a poor start, he’s going to have to ace the final to get a passing grade. The anxiety attacks have been ramping up — he hasn’t exactly been the easiest boyfriend to live with, to be sure. He and Alan have been communicating fairly well, though, he thinks. He knows when Alan needs a break from comforting him now, because Alan’s gotten better about setting that boundary. 

He leads Mira through the process again, letting her take all of the actions so she can get used to the muscle memory of it. 

“You’re just so good at this, Graeme,” Mira murmurs as she stirs the successful sauce. 

“You just did all of that. Just a little guidance from me, that’s it.” 

“Not just this,  _ everything. _ Like, your flavor combinations are the most successful, and Ayala praises you the most. Everyone tells me I’m lucky to be your kitchen mate.” 

Graeme gapes at her. “What?”

Mira frowns, stirring in her own spices. “You didn’t know? You’re like, the star of the class.” 

“I  _ failed _ the first exam. And not like, 59% failed.” 

“Yeah, but you aced the mid-term, and you’re the best, by far, at the lab work, which is really what it’s all about. You could easily get a job as a line cook this summer.” 

Graeme’s mouth opens and closes, a bit like a fish. He actually  _ had _ been thinking about getting a job as a line cook this summer so his skills wouldn’t go rusty. “I— I don’t know what to say.”

 

“She completely blindsided me,” Graeme admits to Alan much later as they’re laying in bed. 

Alan takes his hand, pulling it up for a kiss. “Do you accept what she told you as the truth?”

“I— I’m not sure. I mean. I know I’m doing really well now, but, like— best-in-the-class well?” 

“You don’t like to stand out,” Alan murmurs. When Graeme arches a brow, he laughs. “Okay, well. You’re an exhibitionist, so by definition you do like to stand out, but not about this. Not about your personal activities. You like to show off when you’re Baby Boy, when you’re being my sub. You’re not a showoff in the kitchen. So it makes perfect sense to me that you haven’t noticed that, by working your ass off, you’ve managed to shoot to the top of the class.” 

“It’s the working my ass off part that’s the most important, though. Mira acted like I just had some natural talent.” 

“You do.” 

“Yeah, it’s called anxiety and a petrifying fear of failure.” 

“You have both. Or all three, whatever. You honed your talent because of your anxiety. You didn’t rest on your laurels. You could have maybe rested on your laurels more, maybe.” Alan gives him a small grin. 

“It would be nice not to practically kill myself over knife cuts.” 

“Agreed.” Alan leans over, pressing a kiss to his mouth. 

They settle into bed, both fiddling around on their phones — both fully aware that they’re not supposed to do that before bed, and ignoring the rule for the moment anyway. 

“Hey, Ally, have you looked at the sixth recently?” 

Alan looks over at him with an inquiring brow. 

“Daddy, corset, cock worship, biting. We’re spoiled for choice. The only thing that doesn’t work is ‘corset.’” 

Alan turns to him, letting his head rest on his shoulder and rubbing a warm hand over Graeme’s belly. “Corsets are on your no list?” 

Graeme looks down at him in surprise. “You’d want to see me in a corset? Or I guess, you could wear one?” 

Alan presses a kiss to his shoulder before straightening up to meet his eyes. “I’ve worn a corset before. It had pretty light boning, so nothing too intense, but yeah.” 

“Really?” Images begin to flash through Graeme’s mind. Extremely pleasing images.  


“What, can’t imagine it?”

“More like, already have a a half-chub going, imagining it, buddy. I bet you looked fucking hot.” 

Alan grins, brushing their lips together. “I was still trying to establish my Dom character, but it limited my range of movement when caring for my sub, so I let it go and focused on makeup instead.” 

Graeme slips his leg over Alan, pressing Alan back to the mattress and laying on top of him. “Do you still have it?” Alan nods, a small smile on his face. “Maybe you should break it out for me sometime as a surprise.” 

“That can probably be arranged, as long as you don’t expect me to carry you anywhere.” 

Graeme teases his fingers over Alan’s chest hair. “More like prop you up on a couch like the fine Victorian lady you are, to be admired and not touched.” He captures Alan’s mouth with enthusiasm. 

“What about you?” Alan asks when they break off, panting. 

The idea makes Graeme squirm with self-consciousness. “You think I’d look okay?” 

“Baby, you’d look fabulous in the whole shebang.” He lets his foot graze over Graeme’s calf. “Thigh-high tights, connected to a garter belt, a corset, lace panties. Are you kidding? You’d burn the place down.” 

Graeme blushes, that way where his whole body blushes, he can feel it. It only makes Alan squeeze him harder and kiss his cheek. “Well. I’ll keep that in mind, maybe. Surprise you.” 

He means it. He’s got about a million things to google, but Alan’s birthday is coming up, so. 

“In the meantime, cock worship,” Graeme rubs his half-hard cock over Alan’s, “biting,” and he tenderly bites into Alan’s neck to make him groan, “and Daddy, Daddy. Think we can make it work?” 

“I don’t know, maybe we should practice a little,” Alan replies with a grin, wrapping an arm around Graeme’s neck and pulling him closer. 

 

Strangely, the thing they end up not being able to settle is exactly who’s cock is going to be worshiped during the scene. Graeme wants to get down on his knees and please his Daddy, and Alan wants to spend all the time focusing on his baby boy. 

Eventually, Alan holds up his hands to quiet the ‘argument’, then holds out his fist. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

“Are you kidding?” Graeme laughs. 

Alan raises a challenging eyebrow. “Are you afraid you’re going to lose?” 

“Oh really, old man?” Graeme taps his fist against Alan’s. “Let’s go.” 

 

Pleasure licks up through Graeme’s system when Alan ties the silk tie around his wrist, even though he looks at Alan defiantly. 

“Don’t be a sore loser, baby boy.” 

“You cheated, Daddy.” 

“You have a tell. Knowing your opponent’s tell is  _ not  _ cheating.” He secures Graeme’s other wrist with the fourth tie, so Graeme is spread-eagle over the bed, naked, his legs open wide. “And to the winner go the spoils.” He places a bite directly over Graeme’s pulse point, making Graeme groan. “Color?”

“Green.” 

“Show me how you get out?” 

Graeme twists his wrist, loosening the tie enough to slip out of the knot, his hand free. 

“Perfect, baby boy,” Alan murmurs as he straddles Graeme and leans over to fix the tie. “I wouldn’t tie you up if I didn’t think you’re going to be especially bratty today.” He laughs when Graeme sticks his tongue out. “Case in point, my love.” 

He captures Graeme’s mouth, putting that tongue to far better use. Graeme lets himself drown in the kiss, lets himself start to push at subspace. He doesn’t know exactly what Alan has planned, except that he’d consented to letting Alan mark him all over, so he’s going to feel thoroughly owned after this. 

Marked in more way than one, Graeme surmises when Alan’s beard brushes over his cheeks. He’d expected bites, but the beard burn is nice too. 

“See? All it takes to quiet the brat down is a little command, to know your place, isn’t it, baby boy?” 

Graeme hums, looking at Alan with half-lidded eyes and angling his head to expose his neck in submission. Alan looks like he’s about to feast, and that’s what it feels like when Alan’s teeth scrape over his skin. He bites tenderly, then sucks at Graeme’s neck, raising a bruise that he kisses. He repeats the process down Graeme’s collarbone, over his chest, and spends an exceptional amount of time on his nipples. 

Graeme strains at the restraints, letting them take all of the movement he wants to do. Alan’s mouth is just so fucking good, he wants to cry. He’s already feeling so loved and worshiped, and Alan hasn’t gotten anywhere near his cock yet. 

Over Graeme’s sensitive stomach, he presses kisses, then rubs his beard against the trail of dark brown hair that leads directly to Graeme’s cock. Smiling a little, he tongues at the base, where a metal ring encircles Graeme’s dick and balls. Graeme groans, fighting against squirming as Alan rolls his tongue around his sack. 

Alan pulls off lazily, resting his head on Graeme’s thigh and meeting his eyes. “I’m not going to bite you down here,” he murmurs, though he does let his teeth scrape over the sensitive sack, sending jolts of pained-pleasure through Graeme’s system. “But right here? This is prime territory.” He turns his head, sucking at the soft skin of Graeme’s inner thigh before biting down. 

Graeme yelps, his cock jumping, precum leaking from the tip. Alan looks up at him smugly. “Color?” 

“Green,” Graeme answers on a shuddery breath, letting his head fall back. He closes his eyes, wanting to take sight out of the equation. The ring around his cock makes him feel more on edge than ever, like he’d be coming right now if not for the damned piece of metal cutting him off. 

Graeme loves it, more than he can possibly describe right now. Instead, he gives himself over in absolute surrender to whatever Alan wants to do. 

And that, apparently, is worship him. “You’re so pretty, here, baby boy.” Alan noses along Graeme’s cock as he pops a finger in his mouth, getting it thoroughly wet with spit. It’s nudging into Graeme’s hole before he really thinks about what’s happening, bringing another whole pleasure zone into the mix. “Such a lovely cock, all for me.” 

“All for you, Daddy. Only for you.” 

“What a good boy.” Alan slips his mouth over the head of Graeme’s cock, and finds his prostate with an expert flick of his finger. 

Graeme cries out — without the ring, he’d surely have come by now, but he can’t, he can’t, and it’s making him  _ fly. _ Higher and higher as Alan keeps fingering him and sucking him off and, when Graeme opens his eyes to peek, eye-fucking him. Graeme’s lost, utterly lost, begging with babbling nonsense, begging with the tears rolling down his cheeks, begging with his body movements for his Daddy to just put him out of his misery. 

Smiling at him, playing him like a fiddle, Alan finally slides the cock ring over his balls and off, and Graeme is surprised into his orgasm. It punches him, a shock to his system, his sight going white. Minutes pass, he’s sure, as his body twitches in euphoria. 

When he floats back down from that more pleasant plane to reality, Alan’s already untied his bonds and massaged his shoulders and wrists. He’s moved on to spreading a balm over the hickies he’d left everywhere on Graeme’s body as well as the lines from the ties. Graeme’s eyes widen, realizing belatedly how hard he must have been tugging at them to get marks. 

He captures Alan’s hand as it smooths balm into his ribcage and brings it up for a kiss. Alan’s face lightens with pleasure to see him back, and he kisses Graeme on the forehead in response. “Hey, Graeme, baby, how are you feeling?”

“Like I have the best fucking boyfriend in all of existence. Like seriously, I don’t know how anyone gets along with having Alan Garry in their life.” 

A pleased blush crosses Alan’s cheeks. “Well, I live to serve.” 

“They can’t have you, though. Just me.” 

“That’s right, just you. Just you and me.” 

Alan wraps him up in his arms, and they lay for a while in content silence. Eventually, with his fingers trailing down Alan’s arm, Graeme grins. “So I think that’s a yes on cock rings.” 

Alan laughs, pulling him in more tightly. “Smartass.” 


	8. Praise Kink

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
Early June/Oct 7

| 

**Praise-kink** | Body Swap _(G - ????)_ | ~~Aphrodisiacs~~ | Incest

| 

_Last class is June 2nd, final is June 5, find out grades on the 8th. Not sure how useful I’ll be for planning this one. - G_

  


_Don’t worry baby, I’ve got this one covered. - A_  
  
Alan’s just putting the finishing touches on the table — lighting the candles, arranging the silverware just so — when he hears Graeme buzz into the front door. He’s second only to Threepio in greeting his surprised boyfriend.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be home yet, Alan!” Graeme looks effervescently happy, like a forty-pound weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. He circles his arms around Alan’s neck and leans up for a sweet, lingering kiss.

“I wanted to surprise you, Ace.” Alan lets his hands drift down Graeme’s back and over his ass, pressing them together.

“I don’t think I get to be called Ace if I got a B. Bee-ce, maybe?”

“You fucking passed your first college class with a B, you’re an ace in my book.” He helps Graeme out of his backpack, then pulls him in again for another kiss. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Graeme had texted him bright and early that morning that his grade had finally posted, and that’s when Alan had started to execute Operation Celebrate. Hendrick had been a key component, suddenly ‘remembering’ that today was Cecilia’s only day off for several weeks, so if Graeme wanted to learn how to make her soup, he needed to come over _now._

That had been several hours ago. Enough time for Alan to put everything into place for Operation Celebrate. He’d also had the contingency Operation Commiserate if Graeme’s grade had somehow tanked, but thankfully didn’t have to use it.

“What’s all this?” Graeme asks, peeking around Alan’s shoulder to see the fancy set up at the table. “Did you get take out?”

“No, I knew that wouldn’t be Graeme-foodie approved, so I made dinner myself.” Alan grins as Graeme walks over, inspecting the table, fingers lingering on one of the white tapered candles then brushing over the bright bouquet of sunflowers Alan picked up from the market.

“It’s lovely.”

Alan pulls out one of the chairs and motions for Graeme to sit. _“You_ look lovely in the candlelight.”

A shy blush passes over Graeme’s cheeks. Alan will never get tired of that reaction, not in a million years. Suddenly, Graeme’s eyes open wide. “Wait, is this the praise-kink night?”

Alan sits at his side, squeezing his knee, already anticipating Graeme’s line of thinking. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean you’re any less deserving of it. Can you let me do this for you?”

Graeme softens again, relaxing as he covers Alan’s hand with his. “I can.”

“Because when I say I’m proud of you, I want you to know I mean it, it’s not just for a scene, okay?”

Graeme meets his eyes, honest and pure. “Okay.”

“If you get overwhelmed, use your colors, okay?”

“That’s— I mean. That’s silly. Who would get overwhelmed by some compliments?” Graeme’s voice, already shaky, belies his comment, and he looks down at the floor.

Alan presses a quick, tender kiss to his temple, then ghosts his lips over Graeme’s ear. “It’s okay to be overwhelmed. Because everything I tell you tonight, everything I do for you, it’s the truth. It’s what I believe, and what I want you to believe, too. And it might get intense.”

Graeme shivers, goosebumps raising on his arms, which is perfectly where Alan wants him. “Okay. Green for now, Alan.”

“Perfect.” He kisses Graeme’s smooth jaw and pulls away. “I have one rule for tonight, baby, besides our limits and traffic lights. Even if your brain is saying ‘what he just said isn’t true,’ you’re not allowed to vocalize it, okay? You don’t get to argue with me about how I see you and how amazing I think you are.”

Graeme chews on his lip nervously. “So that’s what you mean by being overwhelmed?”

“Yeah, and— mostly just, when I compliment you, I can always see how you want to protest, if you don’t do it outright. Tonight you have to take it, or color out.”

“But I— that feels so _weird._ Like. I’m just supposed to let you say it?”

Alan grins. “That’s the name of the game, baby.”

“Am I allowed to like, react? Say it back?”

“Hmm. Well. How about, for tonight, if you feel like you need to say something back to me, or protest, or do anything that’s not just accepting it, instead, you kiss me, okay?”

Graeme thinks that over, then nods slowly. “Okay.”

That’s my good boy.” Alan laughs when Graeme kisses his cheek in response. “Are you hungry now, or did you eat at Hen and Ceci’s?”

“I could eat. Oh— There’s a gallon of soup in my backpack for the freezer. For the next time one of us catches a cold. Ceci insisted.”

“I’ll grab it.” Alan stands, then rethinks leaving Graeme to his own devices, and holds his hand out to pull Graeme up. “Come be my kitchen cheerleader.”

“I can help,” Graeme insists with a laugh.

“No, this is my treat, but I can always use moral support.” He grabs the soup, and puts it away, then lifts Graeme up onto the counter to observe. “Perfect. Every kitchen should come with one of you.”

“Then you wouldn’t have me all to yourself.”

“Fair point,” Alan says with a little growl, standing between Graeme’s legs and taking his mouth. “You’re all mine.”

“Unless pre-negotiated.”

Alan grins, nipping at Graeme’s lip. “Precisely. If my baby boy wants to play with someone else, arrangements can be made.”

He turns away, grabbing pre-prepped ingredients from the fridge.

“What’re we having?”

“Well, I thought we could go back to the beginning, the very first thing I made for us. But a little classier, maybe.”

Graeme chews his lip, thinking, then smiles. “Quesadillas?”

“Got it in one. But this time I’m using fresh tortillas from the market and five different types of cheeses. I don’t know, maybe the cheesemonger was just trying to sell me more cheese, but she insisted these were a good combo.”

Graeme cranes his neck, trying to figure out the cheese, until Alan dutifully brings them over one by one for him to identify with a wry smile. “Mmm, Karyn did you right.”

“How did you already memorize the names of everyone at the market? Your mind is amazing,” Alan says casually, loving how he can just let his admiration for Graeme fly when he would normally reserve it because of Graeme’s embarrassment.

Graeme tugs his hand over and kisses it, blushing all the way to his roots.

It’s easy to fall into a rhythm of banter and praise as he puts together the quesadillas. The conversation makes Graeme all squirmy on the counter, hard-on present but not obvious, his face permanently flushed. By the time the food is cooked, Graeme has this cute little smile fixed on his face. He hops down from the counter once Alan has put the hot food down and presses him to the island, kissing the hell out of him.

It’s so easy to get lost in it, to let Graeme push him back and give Alan what he wants to give in some form. He’s fairly sure he could talk Graeme off right now, let him ride his thigh until he comes in his pants, breathless.

But, as he knows from past experience, Graeme likes the long grind. He likes to draw it out, especially if he’s slipping into subspace, which Alan thinks he is.

“There’s a tray with salsa and stuff in the fridge, can you get it, baby?”

Eager to please, Graeme nods and turns to get it quickly as Alan sets up their food on the table. When they settle down, Graeme looks positively blown away at the sour-cream and guac free-for-all Alan has made for them. It reminds Alan once again of the difference of their circumstances. Avocados wouldn’t have exactly been on Graeme’s grocery list before.

“This is the best part,” Graeme says reverently, scooping big servings of salsa, sour cream, and guacamole onto his quesadilla, basically drowning it.

Alan loads himself up as he laughs, cutting into his own first bite and clinking forks with Graeme in a ‘cheers’ motion.  “So, how are you feeling about being a chef, now?”

Graeme chews carefully to allow himself time to think about the question. “I— well. I think maybe now that I’ve done it, I can do it, if that makes sense?”

“Total sense. Like Harry Potter and the patronus.”

Graeme blinks at him.

“Oh my god, have you not read Harry Potter?”

“Guilty.” Graeme laughs at his incredulous face. “What?”

“I just— I just figured out what we’re doing this summer. We’re going to read Harry Potter. Oh my god, what I would give to go back and be able to experience it all over again. Oh! And then when we finish, I should take you to Harry Potter World, I’ve been dying to find an excuse to go and the twins are too young yet. I mean, they'd enjoy the rides and stuff, but they wouldn't really get it, you know? That reminds me, I need to put the illustrated set on their Christmas list.”

Graeme is beaming at him with a brilliant smile. “You’re adorable, nerd.”

“No, you are.” Alan leans over to peck a kiss on Graeme’s nose, making him wrinkle it. “Adorable, beautiful, handsome. Take your pick.”

Graeme taps his chin in fake contemplation. “I think I’ll go with ‘incandescent.’”

“Oh, how could I forget that one?” Unable to resist, he pulls Graeme over to sit on his lap.

Graeme does put up a token protest. “I wasn’t done, Alan.”

Alan picks up a bite of Graeme’s quesadilla with his fork and offers it to him. “My apologies, baby. Let me make it up to you.”

Graeme’s lips close around the fork, curving up in a smile. His love for Alan is obvious in his eyes, and Alan is so thankful for it. He continues to feed Graeme, his free hand rubbing over Graeme’s back as they chatter about nothing important. Alan hasn’t felt this level of relaxation in Graeme’s body in months — okay, well, he _has,_ but only after an orgasm. This natural resting state that Graeme has slipped into is all about being done with his first quarter, and Alan is so, so proud of him.

He murmurs as much in Graeme’s ear, watching Graeme’s Adam’s apple bob in embarrassment. “Thank you...Daddy.”

“And I’m going to keep being proud of you, no matter what you choose, okay? My love, my pride, it’s not conditional. It’s yours forever.”

Graeme lets out a full body shiver, curling better into Alan’s lap and burying his face in Alan’s neck. Alan can feel his hot cheeks pressing into his skin, and then there’s a series of kisses along his beardline, and he knows Graeme is reciprocating.

That’s when Alan decides to focus not on Graeme’s looks, but the things he does have under his control. Graeme preens when Alan tells him how handsome he is, to be sure, but nothing overwhelms him like a simple, “I’m proud of you.”

And Alan is happy to deliver.

He strokes over Graeme’s hair, his face still buried, and says, “I love how hard you worked to get here. You blow me away sometimes.”

Graeme squeezes his fingers into Alan’s shirt and squirms. “Daddy…”

“What, baby?”

“Just— embarrassing.”

“Too bad, you have to take it,” Alan replies with a grin. “That brilliant brain of yours is going to have to deal with how brilliant I think it is.” He leans in to whisper, “Or color out, baby, no harm no foul.”

Graeme shakes his head, a determined look on his face.

“Are you ready for part two?”

“Yeah.”

Alan kisses Graeme soundly, then sets him back on his seat. “Can you blow out the candles for me while I get the leftovers taken care of?”

 

Part two involves his favorite way to get Graeme off: slowly and methodically. They’re laying in bed, naked, and Alan has all of the supplies they need set out already. Graeme’s fingers trace over the dildo, a small anticipatory smile crossing his face.

“Oh yes, I’m definitely going to fuck you, baby boy, don’t you worry.”

Alan lays on his side, propping his head up on one hand as he runs the other lazily over Graeme’s stomach in smooth circles. Graeme’s already hard, and the first light touch makes his cock jump. “I love how sensitive you are. And how open you are. I told you my deepest, darkest secret, and you said ‘Yes, and?’”

Graeme smiles up at him, happily accepting the kiss Alan drops on his lips. “You think that’s what soul mates are? People whose kinks align?” he teases.

“A part of it, for sure.” Alan rolls, covering Graeme partially with his body and pressing kisses everywhere. “You roll with everything, though. I’ve got what has to be the most confusing sexuality on the planet, like, social scientists should study my brain, and you just...roll with it. You just accept me for who I am.”

Graeme’s fingers work their way into his hair, and he pulls Alan down for a long, hot kiss. When Alan finally pulls back, Graeme’s eyes are glittery. “You do, too, Daddy.”

Alan moves to kneel between Graeme’s legs, lifting his hips with a pillow and spreading his legs to see his hole. He pets over it, just a light touch around Graeme’s rim, making him shudder. “I don’t think I can count the ways you’ve made my life better,” Alan murmurs, almost overwhelmed himself, thinking about it.

“I wasn’t— I wasn’t _not_ happy, or anything. I just— I was...stagnant. Waiting for someone I could truly be myself with. Not someone. _You._ Waiting for you.” As he talks, he keeps his eyes trained on Graeme’s, and Graeme’s the same, no longer shying away, giving him a look of utter reverence. Alan wants to say that _he_ should be the one looking at Graeme that way, but he thinks he already is. He stretches Graeme’s rim slowly by feel, not wanting to look away.

“It had to be you, because you’re sassy, and sarcastic, and so goddamn loving, it takes my breath away. Your heart is so big, you’ve not only opened room in it for me, but for my family and friends. My cats,” he says with a laugh, then surprises himself when the laugh chokes up with tears.

Graeme sits up with Alan’s fingers still buried deep inside him and pulls Alan into his arms. “I love you, I love you so much,” he whispers, pressing kisses to Alan’s surprisingly wet cheeks.

“Thank you. Thank you for loving me.”

They hold each other like that for a minute, and then Graeme giggles, squirming on Alan’s fingers. “I guess praise kink affects us both if we broke down in the middle of this.”

Alan’s breath hitches, still a little teary as he laughs. “Let me finish taking care of you, then.”

He pushes Graeme gently back to the bed, kissing him along the way. He stays there with Graeme, pressing his body against Graeme’s as he fucks him with his fingers. Graeme groans against his lips, arching his hips up to take Alan deeper.

Alan can’t find words anymore, or can’t trust himself to find them without breaking again, so he just concentrates on making Graeme feel good. Judging him ready, Alan slicks up the dildo and begins pressing it into Graeme. It’s the model that’s a size up from his own dick, and one of Graeme’s favorites. Graeme shivers as it slides into him, breath shuddering out against Alan’s cheek.

“Oh god, Daddy, yes, fuck me, please, fuck me hard.” Graeme sounds desperate and needy and _perfect_ and Alan obliges, working his arm so the dildo pistons in and out of him.

“Daddeeee,” Graeme whines, making Alan laugh.

It helps him find his voice again. “So unrestrained. Love the way you let yourself go for me. Only for me.”

Graeme drags him down for a searing kiss, and another as his hips push against Alan’s arm.

“Come for me, love. Touch yourself and come for me.”

With a gasp, Graeme grabs his cock and pumps it twice before he’s spilling over his stomach. Alan slows his arm, loving the full-body twitch Graeme gives him when the dildo slides over his prostate again. Eventually he stops, pulling the dildo out at Graeme’s whine, and letting Graeme rest.

Graeme blinks up at him, looking deliriously happy and rumpled. “I want to do that to you next time,” he says with a grin. “The praise thing I mean. Only fucking if you want.”

Alan laughs, cuddling Graeme close despite the cum. “I think that can be arranged.”

 

Later, clean and swaddled in soft pajamas, they curl up with each other and the cats in bed.

“So that’s the first seven days. One week down,” Graeme murmurs against Alan’s chest.

“One week down, one class down, one quarter down. What do you want to do this summer?”

“Fuck a lot.” Graeme laughs when Alan tickles his side. “I was thinking about maybe getting a job?”

“I’d like to take you on another vacation, if possible. Oh, and I wasn’t joking about the Harry Potter.”

“Sounds like a good summer to me.”

“Indeed.” Alan presses a last kiss to Graeme’s hair as they fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've reached the end of arc 1! Tune in tomorrow for arc 2, Summer!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Kudos and comments are always appreciated, especially on an original work!
> 
> Please see the tumblr for my original work: https://mhabbott.tumblr.com/  
> Subscribe for news or drop something nice in my inbox. :)


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